


The Conflict of Identity

by lollercakes



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Immigration & Emigration, US Policy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: Imagine this - you leave your homeland to better yourself and while you're gone things fall apart. Do you change who you are to find a new home? Are you still the person you were when you left? How do you cope when everything about who you are is challenged by everything you're supposed to become?





	1. 2012

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoThere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoThere/gifts).



> This story was crafted as part of the FandomTr*mpsHate auction. The amazing and wonderful human being, SoThere, donated a generous amount to one of the recommended charities to have this story commissioned and it was an absolute joy to write for her. Many thanks to my incredible beta, JennaGill. 
> 
> It should be noted that this story was heavily researched during the writing process. While some details may be a bit grey (I'm not an immigration expert, a Muslim, or an American for that matter), 95% of the story is based around real events that actually happened and blogs/first-person accounts of women's experiences in the States. I have done my absolute best to try to convey the possible experiences of the characters, but this is not to say it is perfect - please do let me know if something I've written is not okay and I will gladly address it as soon as I can. While it is fictitious, the story could be true.

“It came!” Prim shouts from the front room, her small footsteps gaining speed as she rounds around the living room corner. I can practically feel her excitement through the door as each step counts down – 3… 2… “It’s _here_ Katniss!” Bursting into our tiny room, her body flings itself onto the mattress while brandishing a white envelope at me.

“It’s small,” I whisper, mostly to myself, as I take it from her.

“That doesn’t mean anything and you know it. Postage can get expensive here.” And she was right. Damascus could be tricky to get to for couriers, especially with the fragility of our government and the ongoing protests that were happening daily.

Turning the envelope over in my hands, I blow out a swift breath and slide my nail under the edge of the flap. This was it. The letter from the University of California, Berkeley.

“Just do it!” Prim shouts, her frame practically bouncing.

_Okay, Katniss. Breathe._

Ripping the letter free, I scan the first few sentences quickly. And then again. And again, just to be sure my reading of the foreign English was correct. 

“Dear Ms. Everdeen, we are pleased to issue this offer of admission to the Earth and Planetary Sciences PhD program at the University of California, Berkeley, for the upcoming 2012 year. Please find included your educational package instructions and next steps…” I read aloud, my voice falling off at the end as I look up to see my sister standing before me, her eyes filled with tears.

“You got in,” she whispers, hands reaching out to grip my forearms. I nod and blink, my own tears slipping down my cheeks.

“I got in.”

_I got in_.

Crap.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Gale sighs heavily, his body shifting as though defeated. I nod and try not to make eye contact, afraid of the feelings that will encompass me as I say goodbye to my best friend.

The past six months had flown by in a flurry of government letters, passport problems and failed connection attempts as I tried to arrange my student visa into the United States. It wasn’t easy and more than once I was ready to throw in the towel but time and again Prim and Gale were there, stoking the fire and pushing me to keep going. It was because of them that I was leaving to pursue a graduate program in seismology at UC Berkeley.

But it was also because of them that I was starting to reconsider.

The past year had been full of confusion and fear as my people slowly moved closer towards a battle that held nothing good. Protests from the Arab Spring had spawned tenfold and neighbourhoods were collapsing into unrest as the people fought a slowly more suffocating government. It was a difficult time for Syria and with every passing day, the outlook looked more bleak.

I hated the thought of leaving my family in such uncertainty, but they refused to let me stay.

“You will call me when you arrive, won’t you Katniss?” Gale asked lowly, bringing me back to the present. My fingers fiddled with the cup of tea before me, focusing on it instead of what surrounded me.

I didn’t want to think about leaving my home. The thought pained me – a new place, full of new people. None of my family would be there – not Mother or Prim, nor Gale’s family with his westernized take on our culture with their funny clothing and their questionable social mores.

“Katniss?” Gale’s hand brushed against mine, though did not take it in his own. He knew he couldn’t, we both knew it, but I could still feel the longingness rolling off him in thick waves. I was sure in that moment that if I wasn’t leaving, Gale and I would have been married before the year was out.

Looking up then I meet his eyes, dark like mine, and smile.

“Yes. Of course I will. I’m not leaving forever Gale, just for a short while,” I say. But we both knew it could be a lie.

America was a goal for many – get there and you will be successful, living the American dream that so many people want. Money, freedom, safety – all were things that Gale and I had spoken of in secret as we had grown up together. It had been in these conversations that we had figured out that the best way to get there was through education – become the asset that they need and make a difference for not only our families, but the world.

The plan had been that we both pursue our passions – Gale with his mechanical engineering degree and myself studying geographic sciences – and then seek graduate programs at the same university so that we could settle and bring our families to join us.

It hadn’t worked out. Gale’s family had struggled and he had been forced to drop out of his program, entering the working world to help make ends meet. In the years that had passed since, he had not only helped sustain his family, but had helped ours as well, even helping establish funding for my education so that I could study abroad.

He had sacrificed everything for his family and now I had to do the same for mine.

“Do you need a ride to the airport tomorrow?” I shake my head no – Mother, who was as distant as a mother could be after my father passed, had already arranged transportation for me at dawn having expected Gale to be at work by the time I needed to leave. I smiled weakly at him, belying the sadness I felt.

“I think we best say our goodbyes tonight,” I counter and get to my feet, chair scraping on the tile below me. Scanning the room, I see only happy faces as our families together celebrate my adventure. We all knew that this likely meant goodbye for a long while, but the prospect of our reunion in better times and circumstances held smiles like cement to our lips.

* * *

“It’s going to be a big, big day!” Effie squeals, pawing through my closet as she tries to figure out what I’ll wear. It’s my second week in America and I’ve finally found a place to live, complete with a peppy blonde who has made me into her pet project to ‘westernize’. I don’t need to be ‘westernized’, but she insisted as she dragged me out of the apartment to the mall where we proceeded in purchasing a new wardrobe – mostly for her – but with a few nice pieces for me.

The clothing here was… different, to say the least. I wasn’t opposed to it, but it was still an adjustment to make. The biggest battle was still trying to feel comfortable without my headscarf – a choice I made for myself when I boarded the connecting flight to California and one I’m not totally sold on yet. It hadn’t been an easy one - I felt comfortable in it – but after reading blogs and stories about Muslim women who’d been harassed simply for their headdress in America, I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with that too on top of everything else.

“How about the green top?” Effie coos, swooping in front of me with a dark green blouse and a pair of grey slacks. I nod absently and take the clothes from her, trying to ignore her palpable excitement before she flits away to my desk. “Where is your makeup bag, dear?”

I almost snort. Even back home makeup was the farthest priority from my mind.

“I do not have any – “ her resulting glare is almost comical. “It is not my style.”

“Ah, okay. Well, next trip that’s what we need focus on! Now, let’s get you dressed – we can’t be late!” I stare at her as she hovers near the door, watching me closely. Does she expect me to change while she’s here? I flick my eyes towards the hallway and then back to her, praying she gets the subtle hint before I shift on my feet awkwardly.

It’s another minute before she understands she’s getting nowhere and leaves me to change in peace and I can’t stop myself from rubbing my eyes in exasperation before starting to change.

Today is a big day, I won’t deny that. It’s probably why I’m so nervous – I’ve never been one for crowds and today’s graduate program orientation is for all new grad students – Effie included. The thought is daunting but I have to do it.

“Ready?” Effie’s voice travels through the door as I tuck the tails of my blouse in. I look at myself quickly in the mirror, my dark hair pulled back in a braid and tucked around my shoulder. There’s shadows around my eyes and a nervous look to me, but I’m as ready as I think I’ll ever be. Pulling open the door, I step outside and shift my backpack onto my shoulders.

“Yes.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you think Wrong Way Riegels did it on purpose!” Rue scoffs, shaking her head as she sips from her beer. Her slight frame is buzzing, I can tell, as she claps her empty glass on the stained table. “It’s just, you would never – “

“Would you like another soda water, Katniss?” A warm voice breaks through the cluster of sound around me and I turn to see Peeta, my study partner from class. The straw between my lips twitches and I grin sheepishly, dropping it back in my glass.

“Yes. Can I come with you?” I propose, desperate to get away from this endless football talk and secretly hopeful to talk about something more enjoyable with Peeta.

We’ve known each other for a few months now, having been paired off early in the semester by Professor Abernathy, a crude alcoholic who managed to dislike us both enough to assign the biggest analytical project for first year PhD students. The project had just wrapped up and I’d hoped we’d keep in touch – Peeta was kind and thoughtful and a stable friend in the constantly fluctuating culture shock I was experiencing and I didn’t want to lose that.

“Of course you can,” he replies and reaches out for my hand. Gripping his fingers loosely, I slip from my bar stool and leave Rue to her ever-ongoing discussion with Thresh about the Cal Bears.

We make our way down to the bar, looping through the refurbished old home’s staircases and weaving hallways until we enter a cramped bar tucked away in a corner near some empty tables. Peeta makes quick work of our order before turning towards me, hip against the aging wood and bright smile on his lips. Before him I stand awkwardly, arms crossed over my belly with my fingers on my hips and my weight moving from leg to leg. There is a silence between us, despite the fact that the building is brimming with the noise of its regular weekly trivia night.

“Did Professor Abernathy tell you about our grades?” I question. Peeta laughs softly and shakes his head.

“Let’s not talk about that monster. If I never see another Excel spreadsheet it’ll be too soon,” he says in a lazy drawl. It has me laughing to myself and stepping closer until I’m leaning with my forearms on the bar. “How about you? What are you going to do now that that’s over?”

“I was thinking of taking a nap, honestly,” he jokes. His resounding laughter echoes through the wood as he shifts until his arm is resting against mine. Another stretch of silence falls between us, broken only by the bartender placing our drinks down before us. I grab mine eagerly, enjoying the fizz of the soda before it settles in my glass. When I look down, Peeta is still leaning over, staring at his pint of beer.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime? I mean, now that our project is over, I’d still like to hangout sometime…” He asks the wood, not turning to meet my gaze. I turn the question over in my head, thoughts of Gale fighting their way in and haunting me.

Though I’m not well versed on American customs yet, I have watched plenty of Netflix love stories with Effie in the last four months and I’m quite sure she would be making her heart fluttering motions right now if she were here. Despite this, I hesitate, the words getting stuck in my throat.

I must take too long to answer because Peeta shifts and looks at me directly, beer abandoned on the bar and blue eyes determined.

“Please?”

“Okay.”


	2. 2013

“Come on Katniss,” Peeta laughs, slipping the Mickey Mouse ears on my head and stepping back to take in the full picture. “Beautiful. You look like a girl on fire,” he says. Reaching for his phone he snaps a quick photo and then pulls me in for a selfie, our grinning faces looking up at the screen together, contagious laughter brimming from within us.

The day had been one of the best days of my life. Peeta had insisted we take a trip to Anaheim for the weekend to get out of Berkeley and see something new. He’d been on this kick lately to explore new places – intent on showing me the world as though he were some white man’s version of Aladdin. I hadn’t opposed, though my initial concerns had been to where I would sleep, given that Peeta knew of my religious reservations. Thankfully he’d arranged everything, including an AirBnB with two bedrooms so I didn’t have to worry about a thing.

We had ventured out to Disneyland today, what Peeta fondly referred to as the ‘happiest place on Earth’. I hadn’t believed him until this moment, my heart flying and my soul bursting. The joy from the rides, atmosphere and the friendship that had blossomed between us was intoxicating.

“Great picture, really,” I say as I step aside and adjust the ears atop my head. I’m looking up at the Haunted Mansion beside us when Peeta’s arm lands around my shoulders, his body casually pressed against mine and wholly unaware of the shock that has just coursed through me. I force the smile to stay plastered to my face, despite the tension that fills me as an automatic reaction to how I was raised.

“It really was. Do you think you’re ready for this one? It’s getting late but we could probably still get on before the park closes.”

“Yeah, I want to try it,” I answer and pull away slightly, leading the way up the corral to where the short line ends. I keep my eyes focused on the elaborate décor around me that’s clearly designed to get us in the right mindset for the ride. Unfortunately, the power of Disney can’t take me away from the buzzing I feel as Peeta steps closer. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or if I want him to hold me again, the two emotions confusing me.

“Did you have any amusement parks back home?” Peeta asks when we come to a stop.

“Not really. We had one just outside of Damascus – Happyland – but it was not like this at all,” I shrug lightly, recalling the one trip we’d taken to Happyland with Father before he passed. It had been amazing at the time, so many lights and games, but Disneyland was so much more impressive that Happyland seemed in a different category altogether.

The line moves quickly for the ride and before we know it we’re entering the final waiting room and a shiver runs through me.

“Getting scared?”

“Never. You forget where I come from, fear is no stranger to me,” I counter playfully and force myself to stand tall. When I meet his eyes with mine the shock is back and I find myself frozen, unable to move.

“Are you two planning on getting on or just standing there?” The child behind us interrupts, a teasing smile on his face.

Sheepishly we nod and scramble onto the ride, legs touching in the cramped space. I sneak another look at Peeta as the ride lurches forward and find him already staring at me, his gaze locked. Beyond us, the spooky music and atmosphere builds but all I can focus on is us in this small space.

“I want to kiss you,” Peeta whispers, barely audible over the groaning of the ride’s ghosts.

I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either, nervously chewing on my lip as Peeta reaches his hand to my cheek, cupping it softly before pushing his fingers into my hair. In this dark space with no one around to judge me, I lean forward and throw caution to the wind, our lips meeting in a gentle kiss, a pause in time as around us the world darkens.

When we finally break apart, we’re riding past a room full of ghosts as they waltz across the floor. I’m not sure whether it’s the kiss or the visual spectacle in front of me, but I’m speechless, staring at the scene before me with Peeta’s forehead on my neck, our fingers entwined.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” he sighs, eventually leaning back with eyes only for me.

“Was it okay?” I reply softly, unsure. The potential embarrassment of him realizing it was my first kiss hung like one of the ghosts in the back of my mind. Keeping my eyes trained on the ride around us, I watch as the holograms fade in and out in spectacular form, coming and going as though they were free.

“Katniss,” Peeta breaks into my focus and turns my face towards his with his thumb. “It was perfect.”

* * *

I’m shoving my clothes haphazardly into my suitcase when a knock sounds on my bedroom door. My eyes flit to it and then away again, refocusing on the task of packing everything I’ve come to own in my year of being in America into one bag. The challenge seems impossible – I know I’ll have to leave some things behind – but I’m determined to do it.

The knock on the door comes again followed by the rattle of the knob, the lock staying secure.

I didn’t want to leave but I had to. My homeland was falling, my people were being murdered in the streets. I couldn’t stay here, couldn’t start another year of classes while my family was suffering.

I had to go home.

“Katniss, open the door.”

Peeta.

My heart cracks inside my chest, my ache reaching out to my limbs and paralyzing me.

In my fury of action I hadn’t allowed myself to think of him – not of what my leaving would do to him, nor of how he would find someone else when I was gone. It would have hurt too much.

It _was_ hurting too much.

“Please let me in. Effie says you’re packing. Why are you packing Katniss?” He asks through the door. I can just picture him on the other side, posture taunt.

The question he poses breeds more difficult questions – what changed? Why now? What was I going to do?

The answers haven’t yet come to me. Instead I focus on digging my old headscarf out of the closet, wrapping it around my head without a second thought and feeling as though home was only a short walk away instead of the day of travel ahead of me.

“Please, talk to me,” Peeta calls and I can feel the pain in his voice and it hurts.

“Go home, Peeta,” I counter, desperate for him to leave so that I can go without facing this.

“I’m not leaving. Let me in. We can talk about this,” he begs. For a simple moment I pause, my hand resting on the mouse ears that I’ve placed in my suitcase, their flimsy plastic taking up valuable much needed room.

I can’t leave without saying goodbye, I realize, crumpling to my knees as exhaustion finally reaches me.

“I’ve got the key!” I can hear Effie call from the hallway shortly before there’s a click as the lock releases. I half expect the door to burst open and for Peeta to rage as he enters the space but I know that that is not him – he is not an angry man like the stories he tells me of his Mother.

“Katniss, please invite me in,” he requests, voice low. Leaning my head against the mattress, I force myself to breathe deeply, my heart hammering in my throat.

“Okay,” My voice is but a whisper but he must hear it because it’s barely another breath before he’s opening the door and stepping halfway into the room, freezing at the sight before him.

We don’t speak for a moment, our eyes catching before I force myself to look away.

“Are you leaving?” He asks quietly, calmly. I rest my arms on the edge of the bed and cradle my head in them, the floor providing a comforting solidness that my legs couldn’t provide right now.

“Yes,” I say. The word slips from me, sharp enough to break glass. I can practically feel the sadness pouring from him, tangible and haunting.

“What happened?” I look over and watch him step into the room, his body sliding down against the wall until his eyes are level with mine, a bed separating us. I shake my head and rub my eyes, the tears ready to break free. “You’ve gotta talk to me Katniss. I deserve to know why, at least.”

And he’s right. In the past year Peeta has been a steadying force for me – a pillar of strength as the cultural whiplash threatened to overtake me. But more than that, he’s been my best friend and the person I can count on for anything. He is the person I call after a bad news story about home, or when my research seems as though it’s ready to fall apart. He deserves the truth.

“They’re attacking my home,” I whimper. I hear Peeta inhale quickly, the way he always does when I bring up the war that’s crippling my country. I push on though, determined to make him understand why this time is different. “I skyped with Gale early this morning. They’ve dropped chemical bombs… Hundreds of my people are dead just outside the city. I have to go home and help my family. I can’t stay here while they gas them to death! They’re dropping chemical bombs – do you know what those do? People collapse in the street and die! They cough and puke, then they cannot control their bowels and they have seizures and then they die. I have to go home, I have to - “ My words are cut short as Peeta’s arms wrap around me and he pulls me into his lap, his frame enveloping me.

We sit together for what seems like hours, the hysteria of my words slowly easing in his embrace though not completely disappearing. I don’t think I’ll ever get Gale’s words out of my head – the descriptions of the gas too vivid, too horrible to escape.

“What if you die when you go back?” Peeta asks when the red from the setting sun starts to shine through my window. I turn his question over slowly, thinking about the loaded answer behind it.

“Then I’ll die with my people,” I offer, leaning back so that I can see his face. It’s not the answer that he wants, but it is what I am ready to do. Watching helplessly from here is more painful than I could have imagined, but looking at him now, I wonder if it’s more painful than leaving him behind.

“And what happens to me?” His words are broken, his blue eyes surrounded by bloodshot red. I realize then that I don’t think I could leave, even if I tried - my heart is bound to being here, but tearing apart at the need to go home. If I went, something would always pull me back here to this, to this man I’ve found on the other side of the world who asks me these impossible questions and holds me as though I were a precious stone, fragile and valuable.

This was not about us – it was about me, helpless and afraid for my family in a situation I could do nothing to change, except hope to bring them to America as I had originally planned. I can only hope that they survive until then.

Closing my eyes I tuck my head against his chest, burrowing into him and letting the tears come loose. I long to go home, but a part of me feels as though I already am, sitting here in its embrace. The determination to return to Syria begins to fade, though the aching pain for the suffering of my people remains steadfast in my chest, blossoming fresh with every breath.

As the darkness begins to creep into the room, we pull apart and I’m the first to slowly start to put my things away, silent in my choice to stay. We don’t talk about what has passed, neither of us willing to delve deeper into what has transpired between us.

When finally my suitcase has returned to its place in the back of my closet, I stand up straight and rest my hands on my hips, belying the emotions that still rile within me.

“Is this new?” Peeta asks hesitantly, his hands motioning towards his own head. I look to where Peeta stands near the door, catching sight of my frazzled state in the mirror on my wall. My hands fly to the cloth around my head and I pull it off quickly, the static in my hair flying free. “You don’t need to take it off,” he states, stepping towards me.

“I did not realize, it was habit – “ I hurry to reassure, embarrassed of my headscarf, of the person I’ve been pretending to be. I don’t know which version of myself will win.

“You looked beautiful, Katniss. You can wear it whenever you like – I don’t mind at all. I just didn’t think – I didn’t even realize. You’ve never worn one in front of me before so I was surprised is all…” 

“I wore it at home… I mean,” I pause, sitting heavily on the edge of my bed. “I chose not to wear it here, I didn’t want people thinking – I guess I wanted to start fresh is all,” I say. The words tumble from me, critical and honest at the same time.

“Hey, don’t worry – whatever you choose, I’m okay with,” he counters, sitting down beside me as I turn the cloth over in my hands. I look down at the familiar pattern and smile, remembering when my sister gave it to me for my graduation. When I look up again, he’s so close I can feel the heat of him.

“Thank you for being here tonight,” I say. The only words I can offer to show my appreciation for the rock he represents in my internal storm. “I’m not sure if I would have left or not if you were not here. I wanted to so badly, but it is not that easy and I know that - I just got caught up.”

Pulling me into his embrace again, his chin perched upon my head he replies, his words too kind. “I’ll support you in whatever you want, but please talk to me if you start to feel this way again. I can help, even if it means I have to drive you to the airport, okay?”

“I know. I will. I promise,” I say. My words are muffled and low, lulling almost, as I try to tuck in closer despite how impossible it may be. I cannot crawl into his skin, the way I want to for his comfort and warmth. Instead, despite my what my upbringing shouts at me insistently, I shift until I’m lying down on my covers, my fingers tangled in his and the scarf discarded between us. He remains determinedly seated, his body taut as he looks down at me. “Will you lay with me?”

It seems to catch him off guard, a range of emotions passing over his face before he finally lands on one. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He questions, head tilted to the side slightly. I chew my lip, realizing that this is further than I’ve ever gone before - a man, in my bed before marriage.

“Just to sleep tonight, if that is okay? I don’t mean - “ I sigh and close my eyes, focusing on my breaths. “I mean, nothing more. Just keep me company tonight?”

After a drawn out moment, he nods and slides down beside me, half a foot between us. Frowning, I roll until my back is pressed to his chest and his arm is forced up and around me, fingers finding each other again. In my mind’s eye, we look like a mismatched version of a couple from one of Effie’s Hallmark movies, but I try not to think about it.

The silence feels like a cloud of static buzzing between us. Without seeing him, I can tell he hasn’t yet relaxed, his breathing timed and calculated. The thought makes me laugh, the giggle erupting from me without permission.

“What are you laughing at?” He croaks, his breath warm on my neck.

I shift until I can see him out of the corner of my eye, the weight of tonight’s issues slowly starting to ease. “Are you going to get any sleep tonight? Or will it be like sleeping against a wall?” I question lightly. Laughing in response, he sighs and curls around me closer.

“I’ll sleep. It’s just been… a day, you know?” Nodding, I feel his lips press against my hair and I force myself to take a breath.

It has been a day. But right now, laying here, it seems a little less lonely than it had been a few hours ago.


	3. 2014

“Do you want me to bring you anything? Coffee? Snacks? Sex?” Peeta laughs through the phone line as the colour rises in my cheeks. He has a way of doing this to me, teasing me while still overwhelming me with kindness.

“I could use the - “ I pause, another undergrad poking their head through the door. “Sorry, I have to go. See you soon, bye,” I shuffle the phone in my hands and click the ‘end call’ button before his audible words can break into the quiet office. “Hi - are you here for office hours?”

The student delves into their question, a simple one that I’m thankful for to breakup my endless hours working on my oral examinations prep, a required step that I have to finish before the end of my second year here in America.

I’ve been in this office for practically days, venturing out only for food and to grab a few hours of sleep at Peeta’s because it’s closer to campus. In addition to my presentation prep, I’ve been delving into data from the recent earthquake in Chile, determined to include it in my research as I go forward.

From the outside, I look like I’m drowning, but from where I’m sitting I can tell I’m thriving. This is where I excel - when I’m pushed and it’s crunch time. My research is finally taking hold and every day I feel like I’m getting closer to getting through this exam.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I had a few days off to sleep.

It’s another hour or two before Peeta arrives, poking his head into the office with a take out container and a large thermos filled with what I hope is the strongest coffee available. Setting them down on my desk, he leans over and places a kiss on my forehead before perching on the edge of my desk.

“Do you think you could take the night off?” He asks after a moment, looking down at my papers. When I look up at him I can see that the weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he’s back to his old self, a post-exam glowing Peeta looking back at me. For just a moment, my jealousy bubbles and I have to push it back down. I’ll be free in a few days. Just a few days.

“I don’t think so. I’m making good progress here right now. Why?”

“I just miss you and, well, it’s my birthday,” he sighs mournfully. Jerking slightly, I meet his gaze and scowl.

“No, it is not. Don’t trick me like that!” I counter and push his leg until he’s standing beside me, no longer welcome to perch on my desk.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I made us dinner reservations and I want to take you out. You need a break to reboot. You’ve been eating out of styrofoam for a week now.”

Scoffing, I grab the takeout container he’s brought and peek inside, curious at how light it is. Inside I find two tickets to a comedy show tonight, no food in sight.

“If I go tonight, will you make me schnitzel tomorrow for dinner?” I negotiate, trying to hide the smile from my lips. He knows he has me but I want to try to pretend the power is still with me.

“You’ve got a deal. Why don’t you go home and shower? I’ll pick you up at six.”

“One more hour, then I’ll go, I promise.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s it!” He compromises, leaning in for a kiss. Both of us linger, our bodies drawn to each other through familiarity and comfort, our closeness having grown tenfold in the last year.

While once I would have shied away from this public affection, I know now that there’s no shame in it, my customs having adjusted after arriving in America. Despite this, I’m still the first to pull away when Dr Abernathy pokes his head through the door.

“Tsk tsk, save it for the bedroom, Sweetheart,” he chides, using his kid name for me and running his hand through his greasy hair.

“Professor Abernathy,” Peeta greets, stepping forward with his hand outstretched for a shake, typical in his approach. Dr. Abernathy simply glares at it before shaking his head.

“Mr. Mellark. Have you come to distract my TA?” I watch as Peeta takes his brush off with ease, used to this treatment from one of my PhD supervisors.

“I have, sir, yes. She’s promised to break out of this arena for a while and join me for sustenance,” Peeta says. Abernathy grins wolfishly and shakes his head.

“Sorry boy, but we’ve got a meeting with the Associate Dean in ten minutes that I can’t spare her for. You’ll have to reschedule,” he says. The words catch me off guard and I look between Peeta and Abernathy, frowning.

“I did not know about a meeting,” I object lowly, pulling my calendar from my backpack and flipping to today’s page. There’s no notation, no anything filled out on today’s page.

“That’s because it was just booked. It’s about your semester in Japan,” he says. I look up sharply from my calendar, panic lacing through me.

Japan? That had only been a pipedream, I hadn’t thought it would happen. Looking towards Peeta, I can see the idea of it has caught him off guard too, his skin pale and his mouth open slightly in surprise. I did not tell him because it was not a real possibility, simply an idea I had floated in our last supervisory meeting.

My stomach starts turning then as I realize that Peeta has been blindsided by something I didn’t think would be happening for months, if even at all.

Lurching to my feet, I slip my hand into Peeta’s and give it a squeeze. “We will talk after, right?” I croak, my voice absent and unsure. Peeta nods slightly and reaches for the take out container and thermos, wordlessly leaving the shocked bubble I remain in.

“I’m guessing by the look on that boy’s face that you didn’t tell him, did you Sweetheart?” Abernathy remarks after Peeta has left and I’ve started collecting my things.

“No, not yet. I did not think it was possible so I did not want him to be concerned,” I say. And it’s true - though the worry running through my veins held no solace for this fact.

“Well, let’s go find out what the AD thinks and you can take your hot mess from there.”

The walk to the Associate Dean’s office is uneventful, neither Abernathy or I interested in making small talk, a habit we both have come to appreciate in one another. When we arrive, Dr. Heavensbee is seated behind a commanding desk, his large frame well suited to it. Making quick work of the niceties, Abernathy moves on to explaining my project proposal and how studying at the Earthquake Research Institute in Tokyo would be a great partnership for the program. Heavensbee listens intently, asking pointed questions whenever he feels the need. When all is said, he sits back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Katniss, tell me, do you know why we’re here today?” Heavensbee asks eventually, leaning forward on his desk. I shake my head and look towards Abernathy before answering.

“Not particularly. Is it not standard for large projects such as this to require clearance?” I question hesitantly. His request has me confused - though I’m no expert in American research practices, back home we often met with officials before conducting large research proposals as part of the project.

“Well, not typically. We’re here because there are some concerns about the visa applications for people with Temporary Protected Status currently in the US. Are you aware of these issues?” I shake my head no, confused about what he’s talking about. “Okay. How do I put this? The conflict in Syria has caused the US government to re-evaluate individuals coming into the country and designate them with the new Temporary Protected Status - TPS for short - so that they can come here on a special waiver. This has complicated the visa process and we’re unsure if it would be advisable for you to travel outside of the US on your original passport while this issue is under discussion. Does that make any sense?”

“Are you saying I cannot leave the country because of what is happening in my homeland?” I question sharply, indignation rising within me at the thought that these men have any say about where I go in this world.

“No Katniss, not at all! We’re concerned that should you choose to leave you may be unable to complete your studies here,” He says.

His words have me gritting my teeth, my knuckles white as I hold tight to the arms of the chair.

The thoughts start to spin in my mind, the constant struggle I’ve faced since getting off that plane two years ago slapping me in my face. The same struggle that caused the border agent to question me for over an hour, the same battle that I did not want to face when I refused to practice my cultural traditions by abandoning my headscarf. The way of life that has made me adjust to this idea of the ‘American dream’ that sometimes seems to only be available to the young and beautiful who meet the normal standard, that of being Christian and white. These white men and their fight to control me and where I go, simply because I am from a country that is at war.

“Katniss,” Abernathy intrudes, his voice calm as he taps my hand, obviously seeing my internal battle. “We’re not telling you that you can’t go. We’re telling you that because of the instability, it may be difficult for you to come back if you choose to leave right now. We want you to go, but you need to understand the situation and the risks that come with this proposal.”

I focus on what Abernathy is saying, allowing the words to sink in and my anger to settle. I know that the idea of America is to welcome everyone, but the more directions I turn lately the more I see people fighting against people like me. I try not to focus on that, instead forcing my breath to be even and smooth.

“I understand,” I say after a moment, getting to my feet and rubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I appreciate your comments. I must think about my options now, if you will please excuse me. Thank you for meeting with me - Dr. Abernathy, I will email you the notes from today’s office hours.”

If I could have run respectively from that office, I would have. There was no way that I could get away fast enough while maintaining my decorum, so I forced myself to walk slowly until I was clear of campus and finally able to pull my phone from my pocket, dialing Peeta’s number instinctively.

“Katniss?” Peeta’s voice fills the line and I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful he’d picked up.

“Can we talk? Please?” I would beg if I had to.

“I think we need to. Where are you?” Looking around I relay my landmarks and find a bench, needing to sit down now that my adrenaline is dissipating. “Talk to me Katniss.”

I start from the top - about the paper I’d read a month ago from a researcher in Tokyo who was doing research about the 2011 earthquake in Japan that related to what I was studying. The paper had lead me to requesting a data share with them that had to be routed through Abernathy who had proposed in our last meeting that I investigate becoming a visiting researcher at the University of Tokyo.

“I did not think he was serious Peeta, otherwise I would have told you,” I pause, my fingers scratching at the holes in my jeans.

“I know,” he replies, his voice almost above me. It’s then the shadow falls over me and I look up to find him sliding onto the bench beside me, his phone disappearing into his pocket as the dead line rings out in mine. “I get it. Things happen quickly when you’re as smart as you are.”

I hear the praise but refuse to let it distract me, well aware of Peeta’s ability to charm as a method of distraction. Instead I pull him in for a quick kiss, before leaning into him for support.

“Are you going to go then?” The question comes after a moment of quiet, the worry and tension building behind it.

“No,” I answer quietly, the decision coming easily to me then as I confront things head on.

“Is it because of me?” I ponder it for a moment, thinking it through.

Is it? I don’t think it is, but can I say it for sure? Would I want to leave Peeta now, as things are finally levelling out? I twist it around in my mind, tasting the words in my mouth. The idea doesn’t feel right - not because I don’t value him, but because I don’t believe that the distance would destroy what we have. We’re stronger than that, I’m sure of it.

Then why wasn’t I jumping at the opportunity to advance my research?

“They told me in the meeting that if I left the US now, I might have a hard time coming back to finish my program. I don’t know if it is worth it…” I let the words hang there, the honest and real truth of my situation as a citizen from a war torn country.

* * *

Two months after having met with Heavensbee and Abernathy to discuss my research partnership I’ve finally come to terms with the idea that I need to stay in America until I’ve finished my PhD. The realization makes me homesick, though I refuse to admit it out loud even though Peeta can tell. He seems to understand me better than I understand myself sometimes.

Since that decision though Abernathy has been set on finding me new opportunities to travel the US for my research, annoyed that I’m scientifically limited because of my citizenship to a less than advantageous country. Which is how I’ve found myself at the University of California Santa Barbara campus to meet with Dr. Mason about her research and the possibility of visiting monthly for collaborative efforts.

I find her office easily, the students I ask pointing me in the direction before quickly walking away as fast as they can. I don’t know whether to take it personally, but I do find it almost comical that they’re helpful until I mention who I’m looking for and then they can’t get away fast enough.

“Ugh! You have got to be kidding me!” An angry voice crows from behind the office door, spilling out into the hallway. I knock lightly, hoping I’m not interrupting something critical. “Come in!”

“Hi, Dr. Mason?” I poke my head around the door, gauging the room quickly.

“Johanna - jesus, it’s just Johanna. Who are you?” She asks the computer, refusing to turn around. I pause and chew my lip, uncertain of what I’ve done to get off on the wrong foot. “Hello? Are you coming in or what?” Turning then, she glares at me, her petite frame somehow intimidating.

“Sorry - yes. I’m Katniss Everdeen, Dr. Abernathy’s PhD student - it’s nice to meet - “ I step forward, offering my hand only to have her spin back around to face her computer.

“Ah, Haymitch’s minion. Good. Okay. Grab that computer and use the guest logon. I’ve got some data I want you to look over. I’m going to get a coffee - figure it out by the time I get back and you can stick around. Don’t and you’re out. It’s all on the desktop.”

Before I even realize what’s happening, Dr. Mason has left me alone in her office with barely understandable instructions to interpret some data. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I thumb in Peeta’s number, toggle it to speaker and slide into the chair of what appears to be the guest computer.

“Yello?” He answers after the third ring, breathless. I can almost picture him now, out for his morning jog, gold curls damp and stuck to his forehead.

“Hi - it’s me.”

“Yes, I gathered that. Have you met her yet? What’s she like?” He inquires, probably more curious than I was.

Peeta had been peppering me with questions about Dr. Mason since I found out about the trip, curious about anyone who claimed to be a friend of Abernathy’s.

“Abrupt,” I reply shortly, my brain trying to multitask as I open up the Excel file. In the moments it takes to load, a sickening feeling fills me with the size of the file that would take this amount of time. “She gave me an assignment and just left, no instructions, just sit down and evaluate this. I might be freaking out a little bit right now.”

I was definitely freaking out a lot, though I wouldn’t say that aloud.

“Got it. How about I stay on the line, finish my run, and you shout questions at me if you have any?”

“Yes, thank you, okay,” I sigh and dig in, scrolling through the spreadsheet and evaluating what the columns and numbers mean when combined. The short questions I do ask are met with brisk, breathless answers and before I realize my notes are a comprehensive guide on a seismological study of the 2010 Haitian earthquake complete with notations on erroneous data and its meanings.

“Done yet?” Johanna interrupts half an hour later, two coffees in hand as she kicks the office door closed. I smile and hand her my notebook after she’s set the coffees down, confident in my developments. She looks over them quickly, nodding and muttering to herself. “Good catch on cell H15 - the last kid didn’t even realize that wasn’t a number. Okay. I’m liking what I’m seeing. You’ve got five minutes to explain your thesis - go.”

I take ten, but Johanna doesn’t seem to mind as she sips from her cup. When it’s over, I hear a low whistle and spin back to my phone, clicking it off and shoving it in my bag.

“What kind of alert is that?” She scoffs before sliding her chair back to her desk, attention from me wavering again.

“Just a text, sorry,” I pause, waiting to see if she’ll add more to the conversation. She doesn’t. “So, can you use me on your research?” I prod gently, crossing my arms over my chest. I prepare for a no, an answer that would be somewhat of a relief considering how this meeting has gone so far.

“Come look at this,” she responds instead. I have to focus on keeping my sigh internal as I join her at her workstation. “Isn’t it the cutest thing?” She practically coos as her screen lights up with a hairless dog of some sort.

“It looks like a rat,” I say. And it’s true - a large one, but a rat nonetheless.

“Good. You’re hired. But if you ever insult Fluffball again, I’ll make you shovel up her shit for the whole weekend. Now, you’ll need to go to these three places to start getting your Berkeley information synced with our campus - visit the HR people first, then the IT people. After that, go give the finance people your information, just in case it’s needed. Then come back here - I should be able to talk to you then about what you’re going to be doing here. Got it?” Johanna asks, handing me a scribbled slip of paper. Nodding, I grab my stuff and make for the door.

I spend the rest of the afternoon heading from office to office, each place giving me the run around until I tell them who sent me. For whatever reason, mentioning Johanna’s name strikes both a fear and an understanding in people who instantly become more helpful. When all is said and done, I find myself back in Johanna’s office learning everything I can about her seismology research until the sun begins to set outside.

“Want to go grab some food?” Johanna suggests as I turn another page of her latest journal publication.

“Yes, I’m starving,” I say. It’s easy to abandon the paper when I realize my stomach is growling. I send a quick text to Peeta to update him before collecting my things and heading out. We make our way to a small cafe near the ocean that has a great view of the sunset and cheap beer that Johanna seems to enjoy.

While we don’t focus entirely on our research, we find the conversation coming relatively easily as we discuss how we ended up here doing what we do. I learn that Johanna is actually from Portland, a small city up the coast that she takes pride in and is the backdrop for one of our shared favourite shows, Portlandia.

“I don’t always understand the comedy though,” I admit, shrugging.

“Haha, I know. Trust me, sometimes I don’t get it. The point is that it’s meant to make us look at how ridiculous some local cultures can be when amplified and viewed from the outside. I’m sure that you understand that pretty well, coming here to the States and realizing we’re not quite as happy as we portray ourselves to be,” she says.

Nodding, I think about her words, realizing just how true they are. Coming to America and realizing that the American dream and how it is elsewhere is warped from how it actually is living in the country.

Before I know it, time has slipped away and it’s 9pm, much later than I’d intended on staying out. I ask for the bill and we set out on foot again, back towards campus where Johanna finds her car and we part ways. I take the long way back to the apartment I’m staying in for the weekend, walking along the coast until I have to wind back up into the student housing area and come across more people milling about, their partying just getting underway.

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking when the atmosphere of the neighbourhood takes on a different feel, sounds of chaos coming through the buildings from streets around us. I pull my backpack closer to my back, picking up my pace as I try to get home quicker but it’s too little too late. Turning onto a main street I freeze as ahead of me a car practically mounts the curb, taking out a cyclist and slowing to a crawl. I take a few steps forward, my limited first aid knowledge springing to mind as I think to help the cyclist.

I’m stopped in my tracks though as a loud bang echoes around the street, a flash of light bursting from the car window before it skids away down the street. I feel the bile fill my mouth as I realize I’m on the ground, panic lacing through me.

At that moment, my instinct kicks in and I crawl as quickly as I can into an alley, my mind doing a mental check over my body to make sure I’m not hurt.

“You’re okay,” I repeat anxiously to myself, my hands covering my face and feeling only tears that I wipe away frantically. Forcing my breath to slow, I get to my feet and look out onto the street, the place abandoned and stripped of the life that the other streets in the neighbourhood had had. A few storefronts away I see someone leaning over a body, their figures hidden behind the protection of a vehicle parked on the road.

I take the moment to remember everything I’d learned at home about how to navigate dangerous protests and still make it home in one piece. Though this wasn’t the same, I knew there were similarities that I could put to work here. I decided then that I needed to help - the street was clear and the threat was gone for now.

Before realizing fully what I’d done, I find myself crouching with the man over the young woman who had been on the bike, sliding down to stabilize her neck with my forearms as the man tries to treat her injuries.

“Have you called the ambulance?” I ask, my accent heavy as I try to focus on staying calm instead of sounding American.

“No, I didn’t think - “ The man says, his words shuddering.

“Okay. Please use my phone. It is in my backpack - yes, that. The password is 3549,” I say and watch as the man hastily dials 911, his fingers shaking. Before me the girl tries to shift, slowly coming back to consciousness. “Shh, it’s okay. Do not move. No - you cannot move, please,” I beg, my words trying to break through the haze she must surely be experiencing.

The time seems to slow to a stop as we wait for the ambulance to arrive, the operator on the phone instructing us on how to treat her injuries as best we can. Though it doesn’t seem like she has many wounds, I know that internal injuries can be just as dangerous and it’s those that I worry about the most. I try to remain calm and keep her unmoving, my voice starting to sing childhood songs I used to sing to Prim after a nightmare. They seem to work, if only until the paramedic straps her into a neck brace and onto a backboard, my duty relieved of me as she’s loaded into the back of the ambulance.

Standing there helplessly, I watch as the lights and siren start up and the vehicle leaves, the police pulling in to take their place.

Nervously, I grab my backpack and phone from the ground and step back, the police presence making my back go up as my phone buzzes in my hand.

“Hey - stop. It’s okay, they’ve got the guy but we need to ask you some questions,” the female officer says seemingly sensing my need to run. She approaches me with her hands on her hips, commanding like the military men back home who demanded our compliance.

I can’t stop it before it happens, but another moment later I’m puking into the gutter, the shock finally overcoming me and bringing me to my knees as these strangers look on. Before me all I can see are the streets of home as they’re littered with bodies, Prim and Gale’s descriptions of the attacks flooding into my mind uncontrollably. It’s as though I’m locked in my own mind, trapped, as the guilt and the pain rattle against my insides like blades.

“Miss, it’s okay,” the policewoman repeats, her voice distant from me as my body shifts away from her hand on my shoulder. I would give the moon and stars to escape this situation - the flashbacks, the familiarity and the crushing sadness for my people, my family.

“Maybe she should go to the hospital?” A male voice suggests, deep and soothing. It reminds me of my father’s, bringing me enough to the edge of awareness. I look up and see past the policewoman at my side to her partner who is holding a blanket in a white knuckled grip. He’s looking down at his feet, a confused look on his face. When I follow his gaze down I see him reach for my phone, the buzzing selfie of Peeta and I at Disneyland looking back at us before he puts the phone to his ear and a muffled voice cracks through the line.

“Peeta?” I croak, the fog shifting as I realize he has been trying to call me. The officer reassures him through the phone but I push myself abruptly to my feet, grasping for the device from his hand. “Peeta?” I whimper, my throat raw and my voice raspy. I don’t hear what he says after that, my brain only focusing on the way his voice calms me and centers me, the panic being pushed from where it has lodged in my throat.

“Miss, we need to take you to the station to answer some questions,” the officer reminds me again after a few moments, holding the blanket out to me.

“Okay. Peeta I’m okay. They say I need to go to the police station. I’m okay,” I repeat, trying to reassure him the way he had just done for me.

“Katniss,” he pauses and I close my eyes, imagining that he were here with me now.

“I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. I have to go.”


	4. 2015

The feelings from UC Santa Barbara still haunt me whenever I visit the campus, even almost a year later.

Walking through the door of our apartment after returning from a long week at UCSB, I head straight for our closet where I pull out a t-shirt from the drawer and head towards our bed. I make quick work of pulling the shirt over one of the pillows before curling into it and letting myself sink into his scent as the long day begins to ease from me.

This has always comforted me when Peeta is not around - the smell of him keeping me grounded after a day where I’ve seemingly lost myself in my own mind. It has been a tough year for us, though we have come out stronger for it.

With the shooting, school and everything back home, I’ve come to rely on the support we provide each other. Right now though, as I lay here wishing he were beside me, I recognize that we both have lives that require tending, like a garden with many weeds.

Despite us rounding into what was supposed to be our final year of PhD studies, Peeta has had to take a leave from school to return home to help run his family’s bakery business while his dad has been ill. The move hasn’t been easy - Peeta’s mother loathes the fact that her son is dating me, a Muslim, of all things - and has taken to expressing these thoughts whenever I call. I’ve started to avoid those moments, instead texting and waiting for him to call me instead. Though it isn’t ideal, we both know that there’s nothing that he can do - his father needs him and I could never ask him to turn them down.

With everything going on, the separation has been hard on us. Compacting the issue even more, it came up while Peeta was already away at a conference meaning it’s been nearly a month since he’s been gone - first to Nepal and now home in Pennsylvania. The timing has been difficult, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.

Just as I start to sink deeper into sleep, my phone starts to ring in my bag, insistent that I get up to answer it. I consider for a moment not bothering, rolling over onto Peeta’s side of the bed, but force myself to get up anyways since only the people I care about would call me this late.

“Hello?” I answer blindly, my voice groggy.

“Are you watching the news?” Another familiar but foggy voice asks from across the line.

“No, definitely not. It’s so late - what are you even doing up? Isn’t it like - “ I pause, looking over at the bedside clock. “3:30 there? That’s not a human hour, Peeta,” I chastise, holding the phone to my ear but curling around the pillow more.

“That’s baker’s hours for you. Turn on the news already,” he prods gently.

My responding groan brings a laugh out of him that is quickly stifled after I navigate to Al Jazeera and pull up the breaking news story of a 7.8 magnitude quake that has hit Nepal.

“Oh no,” I whisper more to myself, pulling out the chair and sitting in it heavily. I read through the known details, my heart hurting in my chest as I try to take it all in.

“They’re talking about deaths in the thousands, Katniss,” Peeta breathes. I can see him then hunched over, head resting in his palm.

“I don’t doubt it. It will need a large relief effort, not just in the Valley,” I concur, noting down the initial reports from the area. “I wonder if Abernathy will have access to the data readings from the event. I would like to see if it supports my research.”

“I think it would - the risk reduction portion alone would help... “ he sighs heavily and I can just imagine what he’s picturing now - the places he was only a few weeks ago, the people he met.

“Have you connected with the team you met with there?” I hesitate to ask, unsure if he wants me to broach this with him right now. I know if our roles were reversed, I would want him to talk to me about it.

“I’ve sent emails… But everything is probably down. I might not hear for a few days at least. I mean, it could be weeks I guess. I don’t know. This is big. I wish I was there to help.”

 “I know. But I will admit, I’m selfishly glad you are in Pennsylvania now and not at that meeting anymore,” I say.

Across the country a heavy exhale comes through the phone followed by what can only be a sound of relief.

“Me too.”


	5. 2016

“Marry me?”

“What?” I shout in return, inaudible noise forming a cacophony around us as the protest crowd grows. We’d only intended to be here a few moments, walking through the Trump protest on our way back to the car from dinner at Rue’s place south of San Francisco, but had gotten caught up in the insanity, the feeling tearing through the crowd like wildfire. I knew it wasn’t somewhere I should be - especially given the recent rhetoric that the Republicans had been spreading - but I had to see what a protest in a western city would look like.

It was miles different from our protests back home, though I worried that it would quickly turn if the people were not careful.

“Katniss!” Peeta yells closer, his mouth only inches from my ear. I focus on him then, the crowd fading away around us. “Will you marry me?” He asks again and this time I hear it, the words making me go cold in my limbs.

I can tell instantly that my reaction is not what he’d expected, his blinding smile slipping from his face as he watches me intently.

I don’t have an answer for him. Not now. Not here.

Instead I grab his hand and lead us away, back towards the street we had parked on and away from the mass of people that were pushing inwards as though breathing life into each other.

When we’re back in the safety of the car, my fingers fiddling with my bag as we drive around the bay and back towards home, I can feel his words before they spill out around us.

“Don’t think about it, okay? I was just caught up,” he requests quietly. Somehow it makes me feel worse, my stomach turning.

Did I not want to marry him? I know I did - the thought of not being with him tore at me every night we spent apart. But still I could not answer.

“Are you mad at me?” He questions a short while later, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. Looking at him I frown and reach over to brush my fingers across his temple and into his hair.

“No. I’m not. I am not sure what to say. I did not expect this. Not tonight, at least,” I pause and rest my hands in my lap again, my eyes staring straight ahead as I try to sort through my thoughts.

“Is it because of the protest? Should I not have asked - “

“That would have been better,” I interject, my words light and teasing. “I care about you, Peeta, but to ask me in the middle of all of that chaos… That was a foolish thing to do!”

“I don’t think it was,” he says.

His reply has me closing my eyes and taking in a breath. We’re on the cusp of a fight, his words inadvertently antagonizing.

“What did you expect? Me to say yes and we go ask the ringleader of that circus to wed us? What madness has come over you tonight?” Turning to him slightly, I watch as he keeps his eyes on the road though he somehow still manages to slide his palm into mine.

“I wanted you to say yes because if he wins - which he can because this is really happening - I want you to stay with me here, where it’s safe.”

The words are almost comical. Safe, as though a Trump presidency would be safe for people like me. As if he would not kick out every Muslim he could find the moment he was elected.

But I know Peeta is not thinking about that. He’s thinking about the call I received from Gale last night, the one that told me that the ceasefire would never hold and that he and Prim were heading north to Aleppo to help the effort there, Prim as a member of an aid organization and Gale to assist with rescue operations from the bombings.

The call had left me numb and vacant all day, the effect clearly reaching beyond me to Peeta as well.

“And your answer is marriage?” I question as we round into our neighbourhood, the hour passing too quickly.

“To keep you safe? Yes. We can get you a Green Card and you won’t have to leave after you defend,” he says.

It seems almost too simple the way he says it, as though he’s thought it all through as we pull into our parking spot.

“Katniss, listen to me. I know you’re worried about your family, but you can’t go back there. Not right now. And if your student status ends… I don’t - I mean. If Trump wins and you don’t have your student visa, what are we going to do? I can’t lose you because of this. I can’t be without you.”

“I can’t be without you either,” I affirm lowly, my head heavy as I mentally curl into myself. The reality of what he’s saying, what will surely happen eventually, brings the quiet anxiety I’ve been dealing with since I started finally writing my manuscript to the surface, burning my skin as though I’m on fire.

We sit there for what seems like hours, a canyon between us.

I’m lost in my thoughts as I try to figure out why I can’t say yes, why I want to but the words stay stuck in my throat everytime I open my mouth. It’s only when we finally leave the car and walk through the front door that my shell cracks - his hand on my back guiding me inside and grounding me, bringing me back together.

“Yes. Yes, Peeta, I will marry you,” I say. And it’s like that that I sever my desire to go home, resigning to what I’d known would be my path ever since I received the acceptance letter almost five years ago.

* * *

We get married after Eid al-Fitr, a few days after the holy month of Ramadan has come to a close. Though I no longer observe fasting during this month, I cannot break the awareness that has been ingrained in me since birth. It clings to me as a reminder, my family getting messages to me when it can and the lines of communication are working. Prim warns me soon those lines might go down and not to worry, but I can’t help it.

The ceremony is nothing fancy, an appointment booked at city hall and a celebratory dinner after. We had thought of doing something bigger, like a banquet or a party, but with my family unable to leave the country and Peeta’s family unwilling to even talk about our union with us, it seemed best to keep it small and with our friends.

Within the week, we’ve already submitted our formalized paperwork in hopes that it is settled as soon as possible, namely before the election. Our lawyer continues to give us positive messages of progress, but the stress I feel nibbles at me in the quiet hours of the night while I try to finish my manuscript.

In August I will defend and if I am successful, I will have completed my PhD eligibility term on my student visa. Though the lawyers tell me that I won’t have to leave, that my marriage allows me to stay in the US while waiting for my card, I still fear that they will kick me out once I’ve graduated. The thought follows me like a shadow, creeping up on me and reminding me that this life is temporary.

Rolling over in bed, I watch the red lights of the clock as they tick onward. The wee hours of the morning are when I struggle to sleep the most - nightmares plaguing me with their vivid images of the battle for Syria that I see on the news every day. If I’m not dreaming of those horrors, it’s of my decision to get married.

It’s these thoughts that push me out from under the sheets and towards the glowing laptop at my desk, my fingers silent as they type rambling sentences endlessly into the document that should be my publishable manuscript.

* * *

“What is this, Katniss?” Abernathy snaps, tossing a copy of my first draft back on my desk and surprising me. I look down at the document and frown, unsure how he got a copy before I’d been ready to show it to him. “It’s barely coherent, Sweetheart. What’s going on?”

I force myself to take a breath before responding, my stomach in my throat.

“You weren’t supposed to read it yet,” I counter as I shift the papers into my backpack and out of sight.

“Then why did you send me a copy at 3am last night? I assume you didn’t do that by mistake?” I shake my head as the blurry memory stumbles in.

I had sent it, but the pass through I’d read last night had been okay.

“I don’t know. Sorry. I’ll fix it up before I send you another copy,” I mumble and turn back to my laptop and try to hide the shaking in my hands.

“Katniss,” Abernathy sighs, his hand coming to lightly rest on my shoulder. “Look at me, girl,” he commands until I shift slightly to look at him. “This paper needs a lot of work. Your arguments are weaker than the data I know you have and your phrasing is jumbled. It’s obvious something is going on so I need to know, do we need to push the date of your defense?”

Hiding my face in my hands, my body goes tight as though trying to find its way into the fetal position. The change in posture and my lack of response must send up every red flag to Abernathy who simply squeezes my shoulder again in reassurance.

“When you’re ready to talk, you know where my office is.”

* * *

“Katniss, when are you coming home?” Peeta asks through the phone, his voice concerned though he tries to hide it.

I don’t blame him, I’d only given him a day’s notice before escaping to Johanna’s remote cabin to work on my manuscript somewhere where I could focus and get away from everything. It had only been a few days but I’d already made more progress on fixing my writing than I’d made in the month prior at home.

“When I’m finished,” I answer vaguely. I know the words are unfair but I don’t know what else to say, desperate for room to breathe but still aching to be near him at the same time.

The line is quiet between us, the words unsaid speaking volumes.

It’s moments like this where I wonder if everything changed when we decided to get married. If that broke us.

“I miss you,” he whispers. I can just see him now, hunched over our desk at home and working on his own paper, head in his hand. The picture in my mind’s eye stings and I have to blink away the feelings that come to the surface.

“I miss you too. I’ll be home soon.”

* * *

“You look exhausted,” Peeta exclaims, getting to his feet as I walk through the door, duffle bag in hand. I nearly fall into his open arms, dropping everything to hold onto him.

“I think it’s done,” I mumble into his shirt, breathing in the scent of him as I kick off the burden of my manuscript. The intimacy of this moment has my mind muddled, the automatic immediacy of us reconnecting, like magnets too long kept apart, shocks through me like electricity. I nearly cry as his hands find the end of my braid and pull at the elastic, fingers combing through my hair and making me melt.

“Yeah?” His words slip over me, almost incomprehensible, as he steers us towards the couch until my heels hit the leather. The world is fuzzy as his lips meet mine, my palms slipping under the edge of his shirt until they’re pressed against his back, holding him to me.

“Can we - “ I sigh, pulling apart for a moment, no more than an inch between us.

“Anything,” he answers the question I had not even asked, leading us instead towards our room. When my feet stumble, he catches me and holds me against him until I’m placed on the bed, his body sliding in against me.

We take time to find each other again, the distance between us these last few months a seemingly impossible chasm to overcome. But we try with every touch of our skin and every hitched breath between us.

There’s a moment, half naked and breathless, that our eyes catch and hold as though spellbound. Despite our bodies already being joined from our frenzy to get close, it’s still not enough and I find myself needing to get closer, to feel all of him against me. Desperately, my seeking hands splay across his back before sliding lower, taking the edge of his pants with them and shifting myself until my feet can pull them the rest of the way off. He grins sheepishly at the move, rolling until I’m sitting atop him, our bodies moving lazily together as he slides my dress over my head.

The moment shifts when we’re skin to skin. The air crackles and our rough hands slide across our bodies in a feeble attempt to pull us closer together. Sweat mixing with sweat, lips upon lips, we slowly try to cross the space between us.

Later, when we’re curled together under the sheets and hidden from the world, I consider confessing my nightmares of home and how we got here. The words stick in my throat. Instead I thread my legs between his and wrap myself until there is no separation between us - as though I can speak the words with my body that I cannot say aloud.

When we wake the sky is still dark, the cool breeze floating in through the half opened window. I turn to Peeta then, his hand slipping from its place in my hair, to find him already awake and pale in the moonlight.

“My nightmares are always about losing you,” he whispers in the darkness, barely audible.

My words fail me in that moment, my mouth dry.

“I dream of you in Santa Barbara, if you’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I picture you being dragged out of here, sent home to fight because so many people are scared of you just for what you believe.”

His words slice through me, forcing me to sit up until we’re side by side, our backs against the headboard. “How come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I ask through cracked words, my mind searching and finding no memories of his bad dreams.

“I don’t think I make noise or anything. I just know I can’t breathe when I think about it and I wake up as though someone is sitting on my chest. And it is so hard when you’re not here, when I can’t feel you beside me. The thing that usually helps is seeing you beside me, feeling you here,” He explains.

“I know there’s this… Space, between us Katniss. There has been for a while and even though I don’t know what it is, not really, I know we have to fix it somehow,” he groans and rubs his hand over his face and sighs. “I can’t lose you.”

I let the feelings reverberate within me as I mull them over. It doesn’t surprise me that he feels it too, I mean, how could he not? He’s more intuitive than I ever have been. But the uselessness I feel at that realization exhausts me to the point where I feel like I’m going to shatter.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” I blurt out, my body curling into itself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop thinking about home and my defense and the election and everything that’s going on. I don’t know why we got married - my family hasn’t even met you and that makes me sad because Prim would love you and she deserves to know you. All I really know is that I can’t _not_ be with you and I can’t feel like how it used to be because there’s so much going on. I feel like everything is collapsing!”

The outburst is abrupt and fast, the words coming in a jumbled mess and falling heavily between us. The one saving grace between us is his heavy hand coming to rest on my back, connecting him to my heart. I turn my head away from my knees and towards him, my eyes burning.

“It’s okay, Katniss,” he assures me quietly. “We’ve done what we need to do to give us more time. I get it. But I need to know… I need… Fuck, I - are we moving forward? Can we still move forward or are we stuck?” Voice cracking, I can practically feel the weight of his question in the air.

I can’t stand it.

Before I even full comprehend what I’m doing I’m crawling into his lap and holding him to me close enough for my fingers to leave bruises on his back. “If we’re stuck, we’re stuck together. I’m not going forward without you. I promise.”

“Okay. That can be enough for now. But just answer me this first: You like me, real or not real?” He asks jokingly into my hair, his arms wrapping around me tightly.

“Real. But it’s more. It is. I just can’t figure out what.”

* * *

“Mom, can you hear me?” Peeta shouts into his phone, one hand covering his other ear while he focuses on the call at hand. I sigh internally as I run my hands down my skirt, flattening out the wrinkles from the day.

We’re standing outside the restaurant where Peeta has brought me for a celebratory dinner, the cool September evening kicking up around us as my stomach growls.

“Yes, can you put Dad on? I have news for him!” He shouts again, eyes catching mine in an exasperated roll. “Dad! Hi! How are you? Yeah? Wow - okay, I’ll make it short. I figured you’d want to know - Katniss passed her defense! I know, I know - she’s brilliant. Yes, I’ve told her. I’ll pass that on, definitely. Okay - we’ve got to go to dinner. Love you. Okay - bye!”

Stepping towards him, I smile and wrap my arms around his waist, tucking myself against him. “Why did you have to shout?” I chide gently, my chin propped on his chest so I can see his face.

“Ugh, you don’t want to know - “

“Now you have to tell me!” I interject, leaning back to look him in the eye.

“They were at one of the rallies in Akron,” he blurts out, shaking his head as he looks away.

“Oh.” It’s all I can manage, my disappointment unsurprising at this stage. Though Peeta’s father can at least manage civility towards me, maybe sometimes even something like familial kindness, his mother is a determined Trump supporter who refuses to acknowledge my part in her son’s life. The rejection, were it any other day, would hurt, but not tonight. Not when I was now Doctor Katniss Everdeen.

“Dad was happy for you though, he said to pass on his congratulations,” Peeta adds as we check in at the restaurant’s host table. We’re lead to a back room tucked behind the bar and when we walk in we’re met with a small cheer as our friends welcome me with congratulations and excitement. It takes me a moment, but when I realize it was Peeta that organized this for me I can’t help but throw off all of my social graces and pull him in for a kiss.

“Thank you, Peeta,” I sigh, breathless, as I pull away slowly.

The night passes in a spinning air of conversation and laughter, a reformed sense of freedom seemingly filling me with every moment. We eat like royalty, the food offerings plentiful and featuring both Californian and Syrian dishes to nourish us with comfort. When I finally get up to excuse myself for some fresh air, I find myself face to face with Abernathy who stands alone sipping quietly from his glass of whiskey.

We don’t say anything for the first few minutes, the quiet understanding that has served us so well over the years helping ease the silence. It’s only when a noise in the distance, a car backfiring or something, spooks a yelp out of me that the spell is broken.

“Are you okay?” Abernathy offers, turning towards me.

“Yes, sorry,” I nod, smiling in hidden relief.

“I guess you’re still rattled by what happened in Santa Barbara,” he says.

The shrug I give is half-hearted, not really wanting to review those stained memories right now.

“It’s a little bit of home, too, I guess,” I offer honestly. Abernathy shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink.

“Ah, yes. At least you don’t have to go back now, what with your ring and everything,” he says.

Though he laughs lightly at the comment, the words have me wrapping my arms around myself and my posture tightening.

“It isn’t like that,” I say. We both hear my uncertainty as the meaning hangs between us.

“You know, when I was your age I was told by someone that I could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve the person I was with. That’s the kind of inspirational shit that was dumped on me when I was younger. That’s what I was thinking about when I was out here, about you and the boy,” he says and pauses as I look at him, our eyes locked as he takes another sip and downs the rest of the glass. “I can’t say that about you two. Not from what I’ve seen from you. You’re bright and hardworking, but that boy has always worn his heart very boldly on his sleeve for you. If you don’t get your head around it sooner rather than later, then they might as well be about you too.”

His words leave me stunned. Despite knowing that they’re partially true, they still hurt to hear.

“I’m trying,” I mumble in response.

Abernathy nods and places his hand on my shoulder before squeezing it lightly.

We’re interrupted then by the buzz of my phone, the video call coming in and chiming in it’s familiar tones.

“Congratulations, Katniss,” he adds as he disappears back inside leaving me to my call. I look down and see Peeta’s smiling face looking back at me, a bittersweet reminder of everything I have to lose.

* * *

Peeta, determined to finish his manuscript, has hidden himself away on campus and left me to my own devices. Since completing my PhD I’ve been working occasionally for Abernathy crunching numbers and analyzing new data to incorporate into our joint research project. The work isn’t exciting, per se, but I won’t argue against the minimal pay I receive that’s allowed while I wait for my papers to be finalized. It also keeps me busy until I figure out what I want to do next, whether it be more research or government analysis work that despite the way it sounds, is quite exciting.

It’s late when I walk through the entranceway to the apartment, my gaze catching on the bits of mail that are sticking out of our mailbox in the row of boxes. Shaking my head at the realization that neither of us had paid any mind to the box in weeks, I open it to find it stuffed full with fliers, coupons and a few letters. Heading to our apartment, I sift through the pile and find the first letter that catches my eye is an envelope marked with the symbol of the Red Crescent society in Syria. Biting my lip and refusing to get pulled into the dark side of my mind, I slide the letter to the side to save it for last hoping that it’s a result of my connection attempt with Prim coming through.

A few dozen coupon booklets and cruise offers later, I find myself staring down at a government letter that has my hands shaking slightly. It’s thin, much like my acceptance letter had been. I debate trying to track Peeta down to open it with me but I know that if it’s a rejection, I shouldn’t make him think about that until he’s at least done writing.

No. I have to open it now.

Scrambling to the kitchen I find a fork and slip it through the letter, opening it with a haphazard tear and pulling the papers loose. The small noise I hear after pulling everything free has me freezing in place, my eyes falling to the floor and seeing my residency card flat on the floor.

I barely take a second glance at the papers in my hand before collapsing to my knees, the small plastic card being inspected like a magical heirloom.

Only after the tears fall do I realize that I’m crying in relief, or happiness, or an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on.

Pulling out my phone, I dial Peeta’s number and listen to it ring, once, twice, three times before the voicemail requests I leave a message. I croak out a simple “Come home” before hanging up, my body prone on the kitchen floor.

I sit there for what seems like hours, a weight unknowingly being lifted from my shoulders as the realization kicks in. When Peeta still hasn’t come home after I’ve completed my nightly routine, I return to the front room and see the society’s letter still sitting where I’d left it, abandoned.

Forcing myself to shrug off the feeling that I’d abandoned the letter like I’d abandoned my sister, I pick it up and open it to find a letter from the Family Reunification Services.

When Prim and Gale had decided to go north to help join the fray, I’d been apprehensive, worried that they would be killed trying to help. My fears had been solidified when two weeks after finishing my program I couldn’t rouse either of them through any of the communication methods we’d been using. The situation had thrown me into a tailspin until I’d talked to the society and learned that they could help track them down. I’d waited patiently for this letter, desperate to know more but determined not to think the worst until it was confirmed.

Now I’d know, either way, and holding the letter in my hand made me feel ill.

Sucking in air, I force myself to look down at the paper and read the words aloud.

They’ve located my sister and Gale. They’re safe.

I breathe a sigh of relief, reading over the new mailing address that they’ve given me and try not to cry again after my earlier bout. When my resiliency fails I find myself sobbing as I hold the letter to my chest, two amazing pieces of news finally reaching me and giving me hope.

It only makes my happy tears fall harder then when Peeta pokes his head through the door and finds me clutching the letter and my card, what is surely a challenging scene before him.

“Hey, hey, Katniss, what’s going on? Why are you crying? Shh, hey, shh…” He soothes, pulling me in tightly. We stand together for a moment, our bodies holding each other close as he feathers his fingers through my hair in his trademark calming way.

I try to find the words, but nothing resembling English comes out so instead we stand there, wrapped in each other until I’m able to vocalize like a human.

“Wonderful things, Peeta,” I mumble into his chest as the tears dry. “They’ve found Prim and Gale - they’re safe.”

“Oh Katniss, I’m so relieved to hear that!” He responds throatily, as though he were about to pick up where I’d left off.

I try to pat his back in a soothing manner but his backpack gets in my way so instead I push it from his shoulders before reaching up to brush my thumbs gently over his eyes.

“I have another piece of good news,” I pause, leaning back slightly so that I can hold the card in front of his face. “Open your eyes.”

 The smile he emits upon realizing what I’m holding before him is almost blinding, the radiance filling me with an energy I cannot contain. It bursts between us like a firecracker and before there is even time to think we’re collapsing into our room and falling apart together.

* * *

I bolt upright in a haze of sleep, my mind spinning as the nightmare slides through my mind.

“You ‘kay?” Peeta mumbles, his hand climbing up the skin of my back. I shiver at his touch, my body instinctively reacting to him in the way that has become familiar and comforting to me.

“Just a nightmare, go back to sleep,” I sigh before leaning over to kiss his forehead. Grabbing my phone from the bedside table, I head towards the kitchen and glance at the clock on the microwave. Five in the morning and I don’t even need to be up until nine.

Shaking my head, I lean against the cupboards and rub my fingers across my brow as I recall the nightmare that had plagued me. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. And yet still, the idea haunted me that Trump could be president.

Swiping my finger through my phone’s password, I toggle to the news and open the browser. The sight that greets me has me sinking to the floor, my phone falling out of my hand as the pressure behind my eyes starts to burn.

“This can’t be real,” I hiss and angrily pick up my phone again to browse to another news site, determined to find out the first result was a hoax.

It isn’t.

The hyperventilation starts to suffocate me as a frustrated noise rips from my chest and I have to curl into myself to stop my body from shaking.

Trump is president. Trump won. Fascism won. Hate won.

“Katniss?” Peeta’s soothing voice sounds around me, his hands coming to pull mine from where they’re wrapped around my head.

“He won, Peeta,” I cry out, my muscles starting to ache.

“What?” His hands disappear as he grapples for my phone, accessing it and reading through the updates. “What the fuck… Katniss, no. This can’t be real. It’s a mistake,” he says.

I shake my head and look up to catch his eyes with mine.

“It’s not. It’s real,” I say.

Hearing me, reading the headlines, Peeta’s legs collapse out from under his crouched body and he looks at me dead on, terror and hatred muddling with pity and sadness in his expression. The way you look at someone before their life changes from something they can’t control.

Stunned. We remain that way for hours, our bodies going through the motions as we inevitably get up and start moving for the day. When breakfast comes, Peeta pulls his chair close to mine and wraps an arm around my hip in a protective embrace, never straying far from my side.

“It’ll be okay, Katniss,” he assures me, though his voice wavers. I nod, though we both know it might not be.

It might not be for a very long time.

* * *

The first time Peeta tells me about the harassment on campus I don’t believe him. Not here, not in a city that embraces the differences of people and thrives off of them.

It only takes a week for reality to come screeching to a halt as I walk towards the lab and see a young white student pull a headscarf off of a female student right in front of me. Racing to her side, I grab the scarf off the ground and hand it back to her, my words failing me as the attacker runs in the opposite direction. The moment leaves me shaken and disturbed, the comfort I previously felt resting on shaky ground as I escort the frazzled girl to her next class.

When I finally make it to my original destination, Peeta sees my distress through the lab windows and envelopes me into a bone-crushing hug, wordless in his support.

Later, as I spread out our shared lunch between us, I recall the event as though it were a fiction I had written from bad dreams. The other students in our unit listen intently, I can see it in their shared glances and their masked disappointment. None of us want to face the reality of a world that’s tearing itself apart with hatred and fear.

The weeks since the election have been riddled with discontent - protests, political opposition, and uncomfortable conversations with those around me have been daily occurrences that I’ve taken determinedly in stride, desperate to pretend everything is normal.

Every night when I finally arrive home, I breathe an almost strangled sigh of relief, glad to be away from the dirty looks that white people are giving me day after day on the street.

Emboldened by Trump’s win, or more openly willing to show their hatred, going into public has been more difficult for me and the strain is starting to show. I try not to let it, but inevitably it spills out while I’m in the shower, or sleeping, or working absently on the computer. Those moments, despite my best attempts, must be noticed by Peeta. They can’t not be. He notices everything and even my sister sees it on the rare chance our video call connects nowadays.

We don’t talk about it though. I can’t take the reassurances he offers and I refuse to see the pity return to his gaze.

I just want things to be normal again.

But they won’t be.

* * *

“I have bad news,” Peeta sighs, pulling me into his sweaty embrace after an impromptu session on our couch. I tilt my head upwards towards him, face neutral, as my hand reaches up and grabs the blanket to pull over us as our skin starts to cool. “My parents are coming to visit.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage as I feel my nails bite into my palms.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. They just told me they decided to include driving up the coast in their road trip and they’ll be in town for dinner,” he says. His voice is light but even I can see through his feigned mirage. When I don’t respond, I can feel him tense up below me as his eyes slide to meet mine. “I’d like you to meet Dad. But I understand if you don’t want to go.”

Chewing my lip, I look away and rest my head over his chest to listen to the one sound that gives me comfort these days; his heart beat.

I haven’t met his parents before, but from what I’ve heard, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. His father doesn’t seem so bad, but his mother… She makes me nervous from what Peeta has told me about his childhood and there’s a part of me, however small, that is too afraid to ask about the suspicious broken bone stories he tells our friends when he has a few too many drinks.

“It’s okay. I understand,” Peeta states quietly, his fingers running absently through my hair.

Realizing he is assuming I’m saying no, I shift and place a kiss over his heart before capturing his mouth with mine. I try to tell him without words. I try to tell him, like I try every day, to say how much he means to me.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” He quips when I breakaway for a breath.

Shaking my head, I rub my nose against his with as much soft affection as I can muster outside of my usual behaviour before he snorts with laughter, grabbing my face in his palms so I have to look him in the eye.

“I was just surprised. Yes, I’d like to meet your parents - “ I reply confidently, knowing full well I wouldn’t like it one bit.

“Ha, you don’t have to lie, Katniss - “

“I’m not! I’ll go to dinner with you and your parents,” my words bely my false happiness, but Peeta lets it slide.

“Thank you,” he rasps, pulling me in close and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. My favourite place in the world. “Are you too tired to go again?”

* * *

“And you must be Katniss!” Peeta’s father, Kurt, crows at me, his arms sprawling out to wrap me in a bone-crushing hug.

I must squeak because it isn’t long before Peeta is breaking us apart and pulling me against him.

“And this is my mother, Agnes,” Peeta nods, introducing me to the woman who haunts his childhood stories.

“Hello Mrs Mellark,” I offer gently, uncertain of my footing. She stares at me, her gaze sliding up and down my frame before landing on my hair.

“I hope you didn’t leave your silly scarf at home on our account, Mrs Mellark,” She counters, her thick arms crossing over her chest.

Peeta squeezes my hip in solidarity, shifting us closer together.

“Mom - “ he starts before I grab his hand and squeeze, warning him off.

“It’s Dr. Everdeen, but please, call me Katniss. And no, I didn’t leave my headscarf at home - I don’t wear one as it is my choice,” I add and shrug.

Peeta’s father looks between his wife and I and clears his throat loudly.

“Should we go eat?” He offers.

“Yes. Please. We’re already late for our reservation,” Peeta observes and leads us into the restaurant.

When we’re settled at our table, the conversation focuses on easy things. We talk about the weather for nearly an hour before we somehow stumble into a debate on global warming that only leads to disagreements and flustered words. It’s the waiter who saves us all, bringing our entrees with a flourish and talking about the quality of the ingredients. The distraction works and soon we’re onto the family’s favourite topic, baking.

“So wait, my son, my one hope to continue the family business, is now an expert in pita baking?” Kurt laughs, his belly rumbling in between bites of food.

“You have Peeta making pitas?” Agnes scoffs, shaking her head. I feel Peeta’s hand move on my leg, a reminder of the contact he’s maintained with me throughout the night as a silent comfort.

“She doesn’t have me making anything, Mom. I make them because they’re delicious. Maybe I’ll make you one some day,” Peeta adds before taking a sip of his drink to keep the words he wants to say from slipping out.

“I don’t want any filthy tow - “

“Don’t you dare,” Peeta interjects, his fist coming to land heavily on the table so hard that our glassware shivers. I watch hesitantly as Agnes puts down her fork, scowling at her son.

“You will respect me in public, boy,” she hisses angrily towards him.

Below the table I grip Peeta’s hand tightly, desperate to soothe him but terrified of the way his body seemingly shakes uncontrollably.

“I will give respect where it is due. You will not insult my wife. Ever,” he seethes I catch sight of his tight lips, the way his teeth clench between each word, and hold my breath to keep my mouth shut.

“She is destroying this country. How can you be so stupid? Trump won! Trump _won_ and you dare get offended - “

“We’re leaving. Come on, Katniss,” Peeta growls before standing abruptly and throwing down his napkin.

His mother mirrors him, though when her hand strikes across his cheek I can practically feel the air get sucked out of the room.

Without a second thought, I’ve wedged myself between them and have pushed Agnes away, her heavy frame stumbling backwards until she’s falling back into her chair. The burn of people’s eyes on me, the feeling of their judgement, causes my skin to redden and my body to tense as I stand in front of Peeta with arms outstretched.

“You can insult me as much as you’d like, but you will never raise your hand to him ever again or I will - “

“You’ll what, terrorist?” She interrupts, coiling as though preparing herself to strike.

“Or, I assure you, you will never see him again,” I say.

Her responding cackle chills me, the sound reverberating through the silent restaurant. “I’ll have your ass deported for assault before you can even blink.”

I feel Peeta’s arm wrap around my waist, his fingers sliding into my belt loop.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers, his warm breath against my neck a comfort to the sear of my embarrassment. From the corner of my eye I watch as Peeta waves over the waiter and pulls out his wallet. The man shakes his head, instead placing the bill down in front of Agnes with a snap, handing us an ice pack before waving us off.

We don’t look back, not for a second, as we leave the restaurant. The cool night breeze that greets us only solidifies my chill, leaving me shaking by the time we reach the car.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, my bones rattling in my skin as we sit in the parking lot. Peeta’s response catches me off guard, his fists hitting the wheel as he lets out a yell that pierces me. It takes a moment but eventually the yelling stops and I’m able to reach over and place my hand tentatively over his, the whites of his knuckles visible as he grips the wheel. “We’re okay,” I offer quietly, my shaking slowing at the feel of him.

“It’s not right,” he hiccups, his voice wavering underneath the anger. Reaching with my other hand I force his face towards me until he has no choice but to meet his gaze with mine, his wounded cheek starting to swell. I feather my fingers over the mark before pulling him close so that I can place a kiss on his forehead as an attempt at comfort.

“We knew this might happen, Peeta,” I offer, leaning into him until his hands come to rest in his lap. I feel his body shrink as he releases a long breath, defeat rolling through him.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking,” he realizes as he finally starts to settle, his eyes going wide as he looks me over. “Did she hurt you? I didn’t notice - I was too - ”

“I’m okay - No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” I soothe, pulling myself closer until I’m practically in his lap, the steering wheel pushing us closer together. “Where did you put the ice pack?” My voice is soft, my words gentle as my hands feel around for the cold bag. Finding it, I raise the compress to his cheek and press lightly as he hisses.

“I’m so sorry Katniss,” he utters, the words gurgling from his throat, stilted and broken. His hand matches mine in a mirror, his fingers ghosting over my own cheek. The calm hand that’s the opposite of his mother.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love…” It slips from my lips without a thought but not without notice. His eyes snap to lock with mine, recognition bursting between us. This is the first time those words have come from me, the first time that they’ve been uttered without being scripted and expected as a social norm. Probably the first time they’ve been utterly and completely true.

“I - Katniss,” he sighs heavily, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to say that just because of - “

“I’m not,” I interrupt, shifting until my back is pressed against the wheel. Shaking my head, I tuck my chin and look out the  window, my eyes squinting in the dull light.

“I just don’t want you to say it to try to make this go away. I don’t want - I mean, I want you to say it but not because you pity me. I couldn’t live with myself if you… I love you, Katniss. Don’t muddle what we have after this - this, clusterfuck. This is my life and I don’t want - “

“I love you, Peeta,” I sigh, turning back to look him in the eyes. “I’m not saying it because of tonight. Or to make you feel better. I’m saying it because it’s true. I just couldn’t get it out before. I didn’t know how.”

The silence between us remains charged, the sound of our breathing filling the space around us as we contemplate what has just transpired. When it seemingly stretches on, I start to feel my heart in my throat at the thought that the moment was wrong, that I should have stayed quiet. The very idea of it has me scurrying to the passenger seat again, embarrassed and retreating into myself with every inch I put between us.

“Real or not real?” He breaks the silence, his hand capturing mine.

I don’t even hesitate, “Real.”

He barely waits a second before abandoning the ice pack, following me until there’s no space left between the door, myself and him. His mouth meets mine in a flurry of movement as his hands frame my face.

“Real. This is real. I love you,” he says, heat rising and cocooning us. “I do. Katniss. I love you.”

The press of his body against mine in the small space is overwhelming and it causes me to lift my head to the ceiling to capture air while his lips find my jaw, my neck, my collar.

“Peeta,” I sigh, nuzzling him as I run my hands through his dishevelled curls. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

December arrives with a gust of Christmas themed everything. Though I’ve never been one to celebrate it since moving to America, my connection to Peeta has bred a certain feeling of nostalgia around the subject. At some point, I even started to purchase small gifts to surprise him with while he preps for his PhD defense, the idea of the 12 Days of Christmas making me giddy while he tries to wrap up his program. Looking down at the final surprise, I turn the small box of K’NEX over in my hands and smile broadly. He’ll love it. I’m sure of it.

“Sweetheart, it’s an open defense, you know you can go in, right?” Abernathy chides, sliding what could only be his flask back into his breast pocket.

“I know. I don’t want to throw him off,” I quip in return, shifting my weight onto my other foot quickly. Abernathy shakes his head and looks down at the box.

“Planning on saving the world with toys?” His hand reaches for the box to inspect it further. Turning it over a couple times, I watch as he squints and reaches for the pair of glasses - not a flask - that he pulls from his pocket again. I grin to myself as he slides them on, his professor-look more apparent than ever.

“It’s a Christmas present,” I answer meekly to his furrowed brow.

“You celebrate Christmas now?” The question makes me feel awkward, as though I’m playing make believe with my identity. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I try to shrug it off like a wet towel around my neck.

“Not really. But Peeta does. So I got it for him. For Christmas. And kinda this,” I motion with my hands towards the door where just behind it, I can hear Peeta’s confident answers as his examiners try to poke holes in his research.

The months since our challenging conversation after my defense have been a mixed bag - while we’ve continued to work together, our lunch conversations have remained stunted and impersonal, as though we’re afraid to say anything that may break the careful balance that we’ve set for each other. Neither Abernathy nor I have mentioned my relationship with Peeta and I was intent on keeping it that way, at least I had been until today. Now I wanted to rub it in his face and show him how wrong he was.

But I don’t. I can’t. Admittedly, he _was_ right that day, but it doesn’t matter now. Not really.

“Have you planned any surprises for him? Other than the K’NEX?” He smirks as he says it, handing the box back.

“Nothing that I want to mention,” I smile as I say it, keeping my thoughts to myself though surely as my cheeks grow hot Abernathy must understand the meaning. His resulting scoff and headshake stand as his farewell before he saunters away to his office leaving me here to fidget with the box while I wait.

It’s another half hour before Peeta’s supervisor bursts from the room, a triumphant smile on her face. The other examiners file out after her and when I don’t see Peeta join them my nerves start to show. Stepping forward, I poke my head through the doorframe and see him wiping the board down, his face neutral.

“So?” I prod gently, my arms holding his present behind my back. The returning look I get is unreadable causing my stomach to roll. I remind myself to wait out his silence, to be patient with the way his mind processes things.

“I guess I’m a doctor now, eh?” He says quietly, setting down the eraser. I nearly burst out of my body as the words click into place, my excitement palpable as I leap towards him. My small frame practically climbs up his body as I place kisses all over, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” I mumble in between nips and nudges and spurts of excited laughter. When finally he sets me down on the table, I refuse to fully let go of him until he meets his lips with mine in a determined kiss. “I didn’t plan anything like you asked, just so you know,” I remind lowly.

“Good. I just want to celebrate with you. Only you,” he sighs into my mouth and I can tell it’s a sigh of relief that flows out of him and into me.

We’re both free of school, free of practicing and writing and deadlines. We can go anywhere, do anything. Freedom.

“Hey, what’s this?” He gasps, grabbing the box from where it’s fallen on the table behind me. “K’NEX? Are you kidding me?” Wide eyes and a childish grin plaster his face as he pulls out the bag of small plastic pieces.

“You can’t open it here!” I scorn, grabbing his hands. “You’ll lose the pieces and then you won’t be able to build the dinosaur!”

“It’s a _dinosaur_?” Grabbing my face in his hands he gives me a kiss that steals my breath.

“It even has a motor that makes it walk.”

“Home. Now. Or we’ll never make it.”

We barely make it.

Through the door and on the floor we find ourselves wedged between the wall and closet, our clothing a haphazard mess. In this moment, I feel more aligned with who I’ve become over the last few years than I ever have before. I feel centered and content, my forehead resting in the crux of his collarbone as his fingers trace patterns along my spine.

Despite everything that has happened - the horrible things both here and abroad, I know that every moment has led to this. Without having come to America to study, I would never have met Peeta and surely I’d be married to Gale with a wild brood back home. I would not be a doctor and I would not be independent and free like I am here, away from the restrictions that my community at home wishes to observe.

“This was a perfect way to celebrate,” Peeta admits as the sun crosses over his face. I nod into his neck, exhausted but happy. “Do you have any more surprises planned for me?”

“Maybe,” I whisper, moving to slide away but finding myself trapped in his embrace.

“They can wait. I’m good - “ he’s interrupted by the buzzing of my phone, the familiar Skype chime announcing a call from my family. Looking at the clock, I frown, calculating the time change.

“It’s four in the morning there,” I shift, stretching to grab my phone. The phone illuminates with Prim’s profile picture, her striking paleness making my chest constrict. “Hello?”

When it’s Gale’s face that fills the screen and not Prim’s, my stomach sinks and I shift until I’m sitting on the floor off of Peeta’s lap. I try to gauge what’s wrong before he opens his mouth but it’s near impossible, the background noise causing a cacophony of sounds to emerge.

“Katniss,” Gale grunts, his face gaunt.

“Gale - What… What’s happening? Why are you calling from Prim’s account?” I know my fear is evident on my face, it must be for Peeta to grab my knee and shift closer.

“It’s bad here. Katniss. Prim - she’s… Prim - “ There’s an explosion in the foreground, the image shakes as Gale’s head disappears and the phone clatters to the floor. Holding the phone closer to my face, I try to understand what I’m seeing.

It’s the ceiling.

And it’s cracking.

“Gale?” I croak, throat tight. Peeta’s hand squeezes on my knee.

The crack widens and the screen goes black.

“Gale?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Gale?” It graduates to a shout. Then a shriek.

Running on fevered autopilot, I recall Prim’s account with no connection made. Part of me thinks it’s because the connection is down, but part of me knows it’s something more. The idea of it fills me with dread, soaking into my bones until I’m sweating and my brow is creasing to the point of pain.

“Katniss, hey, focus for a second here,” Peeta interjects, gripping my shoulders and pulling my panicked helium-filled self back to earth. “Take a breath. We don’t know exactly what’s happening. Let’s give it a couple hours and we’ll try again. Does that sound okay?”

Nodding, I hand him my phone and get to my feet, ignoring the wobble in my step and the rush of blood to my head. I practically drift into the bathroom, weightless, stomach curdling from fear. Vomiting weakly, I feel my legs give out below me as everything goes dark.

When I come to, Peeta has me tucked into his embrace, his warmth and closeness in our bed giving me what I need right now. I want to be closer - _need_ to be closer - so I wrap his leg over my hip and burrow myself between his body and shirt until all I can feel is his skin against mine. Peeta never says a word, his body pliant and his arms merely settling around me again once I’ve bound myself to him.

We lay there for hours, wakeless dreams forcing tears from my eyes and his arms to tighten every so often. Inside my head, the truth of what’s happening back home spirals into ghoulish nightmares as I picture every scenario in full technicolour detail. The worst is when the sound of traffic outside our open window creeps in and the sounds of angry shouting spiral up to us. I feel as though I’m helplessly back home amongst a protest, fury and frustration washing out everything good from my homeland.

The last time I felt this way I donned my headscarf and packed my bag, ready to leave on the next available flight. It had been a turning point for me and had scared Peeta deeply, the thought of me disappearing in the night now an admitted feature in his nightmares. I’d promised then that I would not abandon him without a word, that I would talk to him when this overwhelming feeling caught me in a spiral.

I realize then, the thought coming to me with a jolt, that I am already mid-spiral and I haven’t said a thing. The only difference between then and now is the words I’m saying with my body instead of my lips and they are not enough, they can’t be.

“I love you,” I whisper against his chest, my palms coming to rest against him. His leg around my hips tightens me to him as I feel his mouth press a kiss to my head. Absently, I hear a muffled sound and try to turn towards it.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs.

His fingers crawl through my hair and I stop struggling.

“What are you doing?” I ask as my curiosity piques. I shift until I can see the edge of his face and watch as his eye slides down to see mine watching him.

“I’ve been checking Twitter and trying to get through while you’ve been out,” He admits hesitantly. I shift again and this time he helps drag me up until we’re face to face with the phone settled between us. I watch it as though it’s a bomb waiting to go off. “Do you know the exact place where they were in Aleppo?”

I shake my head. I haven’t known exactly where Prim and Gale have been settled since they moved north, their position always changing based on how the war has progressed and where they’re needed most. The last time I spoke to them they were on the outskirts of the city, Prim working in a makeshift clinic and Gale helping with the rescue team, though that was almost a month ago now and they could be anywhere.

“What am I going to do if I can’t get through to them?” I wonder aloud, my heart skipping in my chest.

“I’m not sure. But we’ll figure it out together.”

* * *

A week goes by and nothing happens. We go through the motions even though it’s like a fog is permanently surrounding me, sapping my energy and robbing me of sleep. The nightmares that come are the worst part of it all, our neighbours would even agree with night after night of my screams echoing through the corridors. Peeta tries to help but there isn’t much he can do, after all the battle is in my mind not in front of us.

It’s on a quiet Wednesday just before Christmas that my phone rings with an international number. Peeta is the one to pick it up, his greeting tentative as he looks at me sideways.

“Yes, she’s here. Can I ask what this is about?” He nods at the answer and beckons me over. “It’s the Red Crescent.”

Taking the phone from his hand, I greet the heavily accented man in Arabic, the words returning to me as though I haven’t spent the past few years avoiding speaking them to improve my English. Through his surprise, he communicates his role and how he came to have my assigned case with the family reunification effort.

“We do believe that we’ve located your family, Dr. Everdeen,” he pauses and on the other end of the line and I can hear papers shuffling. I chew my lip and squeeze tightly the hand that Peeta offers. “There is a camp in southern Turkey in the Hatay region. The report indicates that Primrose was transported there by your brother and that they are likely still there as of this call. Typically we send notification by mail but because of the urgency of your inquiry, we thought it best to follow up via phone. Now, given that this news is slightly delayed, there is the possibility that it is in now invalid, but to the best of our knowledge this is where they are located. I can provide a phone number for the family line at the camp but again, please be patient with this line as it can experience challenges due to the nature of the location. Do you have any further questions at this time?”

Shaking my head I close my eyes and let out the breath I’d been holding. “No. Just the number please,” I reply.

Peeta is already there with a pen and paper as the man recites the number and I write it down. Thanking him, I hang up the line and stare at the piece of paper, willing it to be a crystal ball so that I can see my sister again.

“Are you going to call?” Peeta asks after I hang up.

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is. Do you need me to do anything? Can I help?” I look at him then, really look, and feel my chest constrict. This beautiful man, he’s in this with me. Even if he can’t do anything, he’s standing by me.

“Just stay with me?”

“Come with me,” he insists, reaching out his hand to me. I take it and he leads us to the couch where he sits and pulls me down beside him. “Call them. Find Prim.”

* * *

“I wish you were coming with me,” I say, arms wrapped tight around Peeta’s waist as we stand at the entrance to airport security. I feel his grip around me tighten, his face hidden where it’s tucked against my neck. The intimacy of this moment, the pure public display of affection used to unnerve me and now I don’t want to stop. I can’t bear it.

The quiet moment between us is filled with anxiety - the feeling that’s blanketed us since we were told by the refugee camp staff that there was no manpower to track down people on demand. That call had been a tragedy for me, the final straw that broke and meant I had to go back to find my sister, that I had to leave the life I’d built here.

It had changed everything.

Though we never argued about it, I knew Peeta was angry. He would never say it - how could he? - but it radiated off of him like a vapor, tarnishing everything around us. I don’t blame him for his anger. I can’t. I’m the one leaving and the choice was always mine. I had to live with that. But still I hoped that the cloud would lift and we’d be able to move past it. Eventually.

“Everything will be okay. I’ll find her and get her home and then I’ll come back,” I say. It sounds less convincing through my tears, I’m sure of it. Against me, Peeta nods and sniffs. “Don’t cry,” I beg. I can feel his silent sobs shaking through him and my heart cracks a bit more. “Don’t be angry with me, please.”

The request catches him off guard and he breaks away from me abruptly, his face blank.

“I was never, not for a second, mad at you,” he urges, hands framing my face. “I am angry at the situation. I hate that your sister is missing, that your homeland is at war. I hate that there is so much hatred in this world. I don’t want you to go, but I understand that this is what you have to do. It kills me that I can’t go with you but I know that you would never be happy here if you didn’t find her. I understand that. I don’t like it, but I get it. I wish you could stay with me, but you can’t. So I will be here for you when you come back.”

I feel the tears burn my eyes, hot and heavy, as I nod in agreement.

“I will come back to you,” I promise with as much emphasis as I can muster.

“You love me, real or not real?” He asks as he pulls me against him again as though our magnets are coming back together again.

I can barely manage to squeeze out my returning “Real” before I tear myself away and disappear into the throng of people lining up to depart for their Christmas holidays.


	6. 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Apologies for the delay in this, life has been chaos lately. This is the final chapter of this short story as I'm sure any future predictions will be too rose-coloured to be reality in a few months. For those of you who've enjoyed it, thank you for your comments etc. Even though I don't write frequently anymore, it still makes my heart swell when I receive any kind of feedback. For those of you who took something away from this story, please, I'm asking you, turn what you've learned into action. At times like this is it good to remember Martin Niemölle's words from "First they came..."

 

"Katniss?" The voice is a merely whisper in the wind, my name disappearing past me as I pull my jacket tighter around me in the cool January air. I almost think it's my mind playing tricks on me, the stress and frustration of the weeks I've spent in Turkey finally starting to destroy me, but something about it makes me turn away from the camp map and squint into the sunlight.

Before me a large shadowed figure looms, the afternoon sun glowing around him. Inside I feel my heart rise in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

"Katniss Everdeen?" The man's voice hesitates, broken and lilted.

"Gale?" It cracks from my lips, unfamiliar and terrifying. The man says a prayer and sinks to his knees before me, his height almost bringing us in line with each other. Without prompting, his large arms are wrapping around me in a hug that reminds me of my childhood - strong and desperate.

The moment is surreal, my body shaking as my mind fizzes out and words escape me. Is this really the man who was once my best friend? The person who helped me get to America, sacrificing his own future to assure mine? I take in his ragged clothes, dirt stained and torn at the edges. His hair is a few inches too long, his beard trimmed but unkempt. Though he doesn't look unwell, I can see that the years have aged him beyond what they should have. How could he be here, of all places, to see me as try I to find him amongst this mass of strangers? It is surely a sign though whether it is good or bad I'm never quite certain.

"I thought you were a dream," he whispers, leaning back to look at my face. I reach for his hands and pull him upwards, nervous at the signal that our embrace sends to others.

"I can't - Gale. I can't believe I've found you," I struggle, my hands fidgeting with my headscarf so that I don't pick at my fingers any more than I have this past month. Nothing sounds right in my head as I think about what to say to this man. The words don't come and we stand there awkwardly, staring in disbelief at the chance meeting that has brought us together in the middle of a camp with thousands of people in it.

"Why are you here?" He asks, breaking the silence and frowning as his face pales. "Katniss, why have you come back to this godforsaken place?"

My mouth moves but only a strangled "Prim" escapes as reality crashes back into me. The truth of why I'm here rushes back in and grips my chest so tightly that I gasp.

"Katniss," he groans.

It burns between us, an ache blooming inside of me.

"Where is she, Gale?" I hiss, stepping towards him, forcing him to say it.

"Katniss, please," he pleads, shaking his head. I see the truth in his eyes but it's not enough. I need to know where my sister is. I need to know what has happened to her and why after nearly four weeks of searching from camp to camp along the southern border I can't find my sister anywhere.

I have to hear him say it.

"Tell me," I demand, closing my eyes because I can't take looking at him anymore without knowing.

"She didn't make it. She died in Aleppo."

It slices through me and brings me to my knees, the truth gutting me and shredding every hope I've held for the last month. If it were any other person telling me this I wouldn't believe them, but because it's Gale, because it's the man who I left to care for my family, I know it must be true.

I feel hollow. No tears come to my eyes and no words to my mouth.

Prim. My sister.

"Katniss, I'm so sorry," Gale moans, finding me and wrapping me in his tight embrace again. If it weren't for his arms I'm sure I would float away. His tears soak my chest, surprise muddling with sadness at the weak man who deals in grief. "I tried to help her, but the building just collapsed. We sent her to the camp when it happened but I didn't know until the day I tried to tell you and we were disconnected - that's when I left Syria to go ensure she was cared for one last time."

Shaking my head, I lean back and brush the tears from his cheeks, dirt smearing and staining his skin.

"When did this happen?" I ask weakly, needing to know more.

"In November… They bombed the hospital she was working at - a hospital, Katniss! I thought she would be safe there but this war is filled with animals. Rules don't apply, they just want to destroy everything. I've been trying to get home since, to tell your mother. We had to bury her… She's buried here in Turkey. We couldn't take her home," he says.

The nightmare scenario has me frozen - my sister is buried somewhere I'll never see her again. Gale has done what he can but the instability of the situation has made everything he's tried to do near impossible.

"Was it a proper burial at least?" I croak, my voice hoarse and thick.

"As best we could. I did what I could for her. You have to believe me. Please forgive me," he pleads, his eyes determined and a little crazy.

"It was not you who dropped the bomb. There is nothing to forgive," I say.

His cry of pain, heavy in the air, destroys what numbed reserve has kept me present.

"You left me to care for her and I failed you. I could not do what I promised you," he says.

Shaking my head, I rest my cheek against his hair and close my eyes, tears starting to finally fall.

"I left you all in a world that was crumbling. You should be forgiving me, not the other way around. Prim was an adult. She made her choice to save people. It's these monsters who took her away from us. Not you."

When the winter sun peaks in the sky, Gale and I retreat to the tent that he calls home, his small plot of land that he shares with three other men. All of the men look shaken and worn, as though hope has left what little life they have left. Gale introduces us but provides no further details about our relationship, an indication that he wishes to protect my reputation in light of everything. After making us some tea, he leads us to a mat outside where we sit and watch the people pass us by.

Despite this being my third refugee camp in the last few weeks I'm still taken aback by the sheer number of people who have been packed into these poor living conditions. The search after landing in Istanbul had taken me to the southern part of the country where I'd checked each camp roster with a fine tooth comb, sometimes endlessly going tent to tent trying to find my sister and Gale. Only here, by pure luck, had I found half of my missing family.

"How did you find your way here?" I ask him as my gaze stays locked on a tiny girl playing in the dirt.

"Initially I was in the Hatay camp until we buried Prim. I tried to go home a bunch of times but kept getting turned around. Eventually I was brought back to this camp where I've been for the past two weeks. I don't know why I stuck around - I guess fate knew I should be here - but I still need to go home. My family is missing me and I need to tell your mother," he pauses and sips from his cup before looking up at me. I can't look at him, the wound from the loss of my sister still pulsing in my chest. "Will you come back home with me?"

The questions has me closing my eyes, brow furrowing. "I can't go home with you Gale. It isn't my home anymore, not really."

The silence stretches between us and I turn to watch the little girl again, my fingers sliding along the edge of my headscarf. Beside me Gale shifts until his hand settles on my wrist. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his prodding thoughts.

"I'm married, Gale," I mumble as my cheeks burn. This man, who has protected my family for years and supported me endlessly, is not who I have come to find. Not really.

"I… I understand," he says, his hand dropping from my wrist. "I knew you were. I just thought… Maybe that - you would come home."

"I know."

* * *

"She's gone," I say mechanically into the phone, my entire body aching from the emotions of the day.

I now sit alone in my hotel room having left a shadow of my childhood friend at the gates to the camp. I'd offered Gale a place on my hotel room couch until I could figure out my return trip, but we'd both known that this was the end between us. I had come back to find my sister and when she wasn't with the man who had promised to keep her safe, something inside of me had broken permanently. There was no repairing the relationship between us in the same way that there was no way to salvage the relationship with my mother after my father had passed.

"Katniss," Peeta's soothing voice wraps around me, a shimmer of comfort. I refuse to cry as I relay the story that Gale had shared with me. Peeta listens intently, his breathing staggered ever so often and I can tell despite the thousands of miles between us that he is breaking inside as well.

"I have booked a flight for Friday evening. I should be arriving home on Saturday," I say and toggle my computer screen to the confirmation page as I relay my flight details to him.

"I'll be there. Is there anything I can do for you?" He asks. I close my eyes and try to hold it together.

"No. I'm contacting everyone I can in Damascus to get word to my mother but there's nothing else we can do. I can't go back there and I can't save my sister. There's nothing more we can do here."

"I wish I could have met her, Katniss. I've never felt so helpless," he whispers into the line and I can picture him with his palm over his face and fingers in his hair, exasperated.

"I know. I feel the same. We'll talk when I get home," I mumble. It's all I can say before my voice cracks and I hang up, desperate to not let him hear my tears.

* * *

The flight is home is endless. No amount of entertainment can keep me occupied for the thirteen hours that I'm trapped with my thoughts in this metal tube high above the earth, so instead I focus on watching the clouds out the window and trying to sleep.

As we round into the last hour of the flight, I head to the washroom to refresh myself before landing. Looking in the mirror I slide my hands over my headscarf, fingers pausing on the edges of my face and weighing the decision to remove it. I know that as soon as I disembark this plane there will be questions about my identity and my loyalty. This piece of fabric and what it represents, however innocuous, will be the mark that makes me stand out from every other individual approaching the customs desk. I also know though that this headscarf is not what holds my faith anymore - that can only come from within me. Without another thought, I pull it from my head and tidy up my loose hair before returning to my seat.

Landing into the San Francisco airport, I enter the queue of arrivals and make my way through the airport like cattle being herded through corrals. I barely notice the people looking at me as my determination to find Peeta becomes all-encompassing. When I finally make it to the customs desk I present my passport and residency card to the agent with a weak smile. The man looks at me carefully before motioning to a co-worker behind the desk. They talk for a moment while my stomach does flips and my nerves grow as I watch other passengers fly through their screening without an issue.

"Ma'am, could you come with me please?" A female agent requests from behind me.

"I'm sorry - what is going on?" I ask, my skin prickling.

"This way, please," she requests again and motions towards a wall of glass that's opaque and unwelcoming. Grabbing my bag from where I've placed it on the floor, I trail behind her slowly, my nails picking anxiously at my fingers until I feel the burn of air on an open wound.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" I question lowly as she motions for me to sit in a chair. Beside me are two hijabi women and a child, their eyes averted.

"Wait here. We'll call you in when we're ready," she says.

Crossing my legs and arms over my chest, I look around at the bare white walls around me and try not to feel like they're closing in on me. In my pocket my phone buzzes and I jerk with surprise, grabbing it and seeing Peeta's text light up on the screen.

_Hey where are you_

"No phones!" The agent blocking the door says to me, his hand pointing to a sign above his left shoulder. "Turn it off and put it away or we'll confiscate it."

I do as he says, shutting the device down and tucking it into my bag, desperate to comply with everything they want me to do so that I can get out of here faster.

Sitting in silence, I watch as two more people are brought into the room and taken into cubicles down the hall. One departs, but the other remains disappeared until my name is called almost three hours later. I make my way carefully into the cubicle where an agent is sitting at a desk, her hair perfectly coiffed and her uniform pressed and practically shining.

"Sit," she commands, not even bothering to look up. I perch on the edge of the chair, my bag held to my chest protectively. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No. Nobody has told me anything," I answer honestly while trying to keep my voice even. My heart is beating out of my chest and making my breath come in short pants. I've never been held at customs before apart from excessive questioning and the stress is practically eating me alive.

"Okay. You're being temporarily held based on Executive Order 13769. The President issued the Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States executive order earlier today and it bans individuals for 90 days who hold passports from Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen. As your passport was issued from the Syrian government we are required to place you in custody until return arrangements from your previous departure airport can be made. Do you understand?"

I can't breathe.

"Ms Everdeen, do you understand?" She tries again, finally looking away from her computer screen to scowl at me.

"Doctor," I hiss, leaning over to put my head between my knees.

"Excuse me? You need a doctor?"

"No. It's Doctor Everdeen. Not Missus," I affirm as I suck in breath, desperate to push down the feeling of panic that's clawing it's way out of me.

"Okay, Dr. Everdeen. Do you understand what I have just told you?" She asks.

Her words wobble in my head, scrambling my thoughts as I try to understand.

"I can't go home?" I croak before forcing myself to sit back in my chair and rally all of the strength I have left.

"We cannot let individuals into the country who hold the indicated passports. We will be booking you a return flight to…" She pauses and types something into her computer. "Istanbul. From there you can proceed with an appeal - "

"No. I'm a Permanent Resident. I have a right to be here, this is my home!" I interject. I know in that instant that my mind has chosen fight over flight, refusing to be shut out of the country I've worked so hard to integrate into.

"I'm sorry, but our orders are to refuse entry to all passport holders from these countries, no exceptions. You do not have a choice here, Dr. Everdeen. Now, you'll be placed in custody until arrangements have been made. Please take a seat and we will talk with you when further details have been arranged," she says and rising to her feet, she motions out of the cubicle as though we're finished our conversation. Refusing to get up, I shake my head and stare her down.

"I need to call my husband and my lawyer. Am I able to use my phone?" My words are ice, my willingness to play along with this game dissipating more with every second. We lock eyes, neither of us wanting to give in until finally she steps back.

"You may make one five minute call. Do it now while I collect your paperwork," she orders.

I don't even wait for her to leave, powering up my phone and dialing Peeta's number as fast as I can manage.

"Katniss! Where are you? Your flight landed almost four hours ago!" He shouts into the line and I can practically feel his panic laced through his words.

"Peeta - I'm okay. I need you to listen to me because this is important. I'm being detained, they're trying to make me go back to Turkey. Something about an Executive Order that Trump signed? I need a lawyer. I can't go back Peeta, I can't leave here or I'll never get back," I cry. I try to hold it together but my mind is fraying at the edges.

"But you're a permanent resident, you aren't on a visa anymore!" Peeta insists loudly, frustration colouring his words.

"I know that and you know that, but it doesn't matter. They say I have to go back. Everyone from those countries has to go back," I explain. If my sanity were a thread, it would be unravelling more with every breath. "Please Peeta. Get me a lawyer - anyone - who can change this. I can't - "

"I will. I will, I promise," he insists, cutting me off.

"I love you," My words are a mere whisper along the line, exhaustion in every exhale.

"I love you too. I'll find you the best - "

"Time's up - Hang up," the agent says as she re-enters the cubicle and slaps papers down before me. "I need your signature on this paperwork to authorize your flight."

"I'm not signing anything," I reply, my phone still held to my ear.

"Katniss," Peeta hisses into my ear, his voice warning.

"Please hang up your phone, Dr. Everdeen, or I will have to confiscate it," the agent orders.

I sit with that threat for another minute, closing my eyes.

"I'll see you soon," I say into the phone before clicking the 'End' button and setting the device on the table. "My lawyer is being contacted. I'll sign the documents when they have provided counsel. Is there somewhere I could rest while I wait? It was a long flight," I ask and push my odds a bit further, my gaze never leaving the agent's face as she stares me down.

"Morton," she calls, a second passing before a burly agent appears in the entranceway. "Please take Dr. Everdeen to Interview Room Three until further notice," she says. The man nods and grips my arm, yanking me to my feet as I scowl at the agent and grab for my phone. I'm not fast enough and my opponents hand latches around it before I can, tossing it into a ziploc and writing my name across it with a Sharpie. "You'll get it back in time for your departure," he sneers.

I'm taken to a bright white room down the hall where I'm locked in with only a table and chair. I try to jiggle the handle but it doesn't budge even when I kick it. For the first twenty minutes I pace back and forth, fury and terror lacing through me in thick webs. When still nothing changes, I crumple to the floor and let my body curl into the corner, desperate to block out the fluorescent lights so that I can sleep.

I don't know how long I lay there in fitful sleep, my body cold and aching on the tile floor. It might be an hour, it might be a day, all I know is that when the door cracks open for the first time in what seems like forever, I bounce to my feet like a shot of lightning, ready to fight.

"Dr. Everdeen?" The petite woman greets, her red mess of curls disheveled with a pencil stuck in a makeshift bun. "My name is Annie Cresta, I'm your lawyer," she adds, looking down at the paperwork in her folder.

Relaxing somewhat, I take in her appearance and frown. Her askiew clothing and last minute make-up have her looking like an ambulance chaser, not someone who can get me out of this situation. Is this the best that I can get?

"I need to confirm that you would like to hire me as your lawyer before I can proceed. Can you please read over this document and sign at the bottom if it's amenable to you?" She asks quietly, placing the paper down on the table along with a pen.

I read it twice, just to be sure it doesn't have a hidden agenda behind it. The trust I have in any stranger right now is slim to none.

"Thank you, Dr. Everdeen. I'll be back as soon as I can," she says and hands me a small paper bag.

Inside I find inside a juice box and a broken croissant. I take it hesitantly and watch as with a parting wave she disappears back through the door leaving me once again to the quiet of the room.

Taking to the corner again, I devour the items before I curl up and try to ignore the hunger that isn't sated as I force myself back to sleep, jetlag and exhaustion finally catching up with me.

I'm not sure what time of day it is when Annie returns, but her outfit has changed and she looks as loopy as I do with black bags under her eyes and her pencil chewed to the quick.

"Katniss, how are you doing?" She asks as she steps in and closes the door behind her. I feel my heart sink as she does so, watching as my escape plan crumbles before me.

"I want to go home," I moan quietly, thoughts of my bed and Peeta's warmth keeping me going. I can't go back to Turkey. I can't.

"We're going to make sure you're released as soon as we can. My partner is already working to petition the courts on your behalf as well as a few other individuals who are currently being held. Do you want to have a seat?" She suggests, pulling out her own chair and settling in. I join her at the table hesitantly, watching her like a caged animal.

"Why are they doing this?" I ask after a moment of watching Annie's hand fly across the papers before her as she takes notes.

"It was an executive order without a lot of direction. The airports are unsure of how to process these individuals who had already boarded flights prior to the order being signed. It's happening across the country," she affirms, never looking up. I shake my head, my fingers rubbing against my eyes.

"Am I going to have to go back to Turkey?" I ask quietly, hand reaching across to still hers for a moment.

"Finnick is working very hard to ensure you do not have to go. You have the appropriate documentation to be in this country, there are no grounds for you to be sent to a country with which you have no prior connection," she answers honestly, finally looking at me though never quite meeting my gaze with her own.

"How is Peeta doing?" I know I shouldn't be distracting her - she's clearly got a lot going on - but I can't help it. I know he's still in the airport, I can practically feel him close by as he waits for me, likely refusing to leave without me.

"I'm sorry, who?" She replies, head cocked to the side.

"Peeta Mellark. My husband - didn't he hire you?" My foot taps the tile floor as the anxiety starts to return, unsure of who hired this person if not Peeta. Can I trust her? Can I trust anyone?

"No, sorry. I was hired by Haymitch Abernathy. He was an old friend of my partner's, used to play squash or something together. Do you know this man?" Annie asks.

Her words have me surprised, Abernathy's name the last person I expected from her.

"Yes. He was my PhD supervisor. We work at the Berkeley Seismology Lab together."

"Good. We should have word from Finnick soon - when I last spoke with him he was meeting with the judge," she says before waking her phone, checking for messages and finding none. "Please relax, Dr. Everdeen. We'll have this sorted out…" She fades off, focusing again on her notes.

I watch the pen move across the paper, transfixed by its movements as I ache to be released, my stomach rumbling again with hunger.

"May I please use your phone to call Peeta?" I ask hesitantly, cautiously looking up to the cameras trained on me.

"Yes, I don't see why not," she mumbles, breaking away from her papers to pull a tupperware container out of her bag. "Seaweed chips. It's the best I can offer right now."

Grabbing at both items like a fiend, I hoard them on my side of the table while one hand dials the number into her phone. When it finally connects through, I let go of the breath I'd been holding and sigh.

"Peeta?"

"Katniss? Is that you?" He exclaims, voice crackling on the line.

"Yes. It's me. I'm using my lawyers phone. Did you call Abernathy?" I don't know why it matters, but some part of me thinks it does.

"I had to. I don't know any lawyers and I didn't want to just call the first one in the phone book. I figured he would know someone or could find someone who did. Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course. I just… I was surprised is all. How are you holding up?" His laughter on the other end of the line makes my heart ache.

"How am _I doing_?" I can feel his warm chuckle ghost over me. "Katniss, I'm doing okay now that I'm talking to you. How are you doing? Are they treating you alright?"

"I haven't had anything to eat really since I came here, but other than that I'm okay. I just want to go home. I want this horrible trip to end so that - " The heavy sob from my chest startles me and before I realize it I'm crying big, fat tears that rattle through my empty system like the echoes of everything I've lost.

I wish in this moment that I had never left that day. That I'd stayed here and celebrated Christmas with Peeta, had given myself entirely over to my new life and waited to hear from Gale the news that I'd known somewhere inside of me as soon as I'd gotten the call. The time machine that I desperately needed to undo my mistakes was nowhere to be found and now I was stuck, maybe to be sent back to a country that had only dealt me loss.

"Katniss, love, I need you to breathe," Peeta's voice calls out to me as though I'm lost at the bottom of a well, trapped. I try to focus in on the sound of him like he is a rope coming to save me from myself, his words wrapping around me and pulling me out of my despair. "That's it. Settle. I'm not far. I'm waiting right here until you get out of there. I promise, I'm here."

When I'm able to pull myself together enough I realize he's barely holding himself together too, his voice unsteady like mine. What a pair we make.

"It won't be long now, Katniss," Annie says, bringing my attention back to her. She looks up from her smartwatch, seemingly getting messages from there while I use her phone. "It's okay. I don't need it," she affirms before turning back to her paperwork, allotting me as much privacy as she can within four square walls.

I ask Peeta to describe what he sees to distract us both, my attention focused on the way he paints his words like an artist to canvas. From what I understand, he's sitting at the arrivals gate in one of the uncomfortable seats that is meant to be a short term spot. The people around him are either greeting those coming in, or are people like us, angry and terrified at what this ban means. He tells me about the lawyers who have set up shop in the lobby, cardboard signs offering their services for free to people stranded like me. When he describes the people outside the building, the amassing protest that is growing with every minute, I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin. People are coming to protest what the government is doing to me - what they know is wrong. The feeling reminds me of home, of the protests and the things my family has fought for all these years - freedom and the right to live our lives the way we want.

"It's unbelievable Katniss. The people who are here. It's like all of the bad things we've seen since the election, they can't be that bad if people keep fighting for what is right. Like maybe this can be something that makes us better, you know?" Peeta whispers and I know he's right. Maybe everything that has shown us the worst in people is also lighting the fire that will burn away the bad? I can only hope.

"Katniss - I need to use my phone, please," Annie interrupts.

"Peeta, I have to go. I'll see you soon," I assure though I can't help but doubt it while I say it.

"Yes, you will. I'll be here waiting for you."

The line goes dead and I hand Annie's phone back to her, watching as she dials in a number. Almost instantly, the phone's speaker alights with bustling noise making Annie plug her ear with her finger so she can focus in on what the person on the other end is saying. I watch as she nods twice, her eyes glancing at me each time with a tight look on her face. I can't read her expression, her poker face too good for me to decode.

"Yes. Okay. I've got that paperwork completed here. We're all set then?" She asks finally and gets to her feet, packing her things into her briefcase as she holds her phone tucked into her shoulder. "Excellent. We'll see you soon. I'll go find Mr Nasar next as soon as I get Katniss processed. Yes. Love you too," she says and hangs up the phone, looking to me brightly. "Katniss, let's go. We've gotten your paperwork filed and you're free to go. They've clarified that people with residency should not be held under the ban so let's get you out of here before that awful excuse for a human can tweet out a counter argument."

Annie's fist is heavy on the door as she knocks for the guard, her small frame surprising me with its strength. When a new agent comes to open the door she explains the situation and asks to be fast-tracked to the acting duty officer. The agent leads us slowly to a corner office where she places a stack of papers on the desk and stands at its edge while the agent pulls up my file.

"Thank you for your patience, Ms Everdeen," The agent grumbles, sliding my bag and cell phone towards me. Scowling, I nearly correct the title he's given me but bite my tongue. Now is not the time to talk back.

With my things in hand, I walk with Annie to the exit, our pathway avoiding the customs desks that have hundreds of people queuing to enter the country.

"Katniss, I'll ensure your bags are sent to your home. It's best if you leave the airport as soon as you can. While I'm not saying it's likely, border agents can detain anyone and it would be best if you didn't stick around, just to be safe. Here's my card. I'll be in touch," she says and nods towards the arrival gateway, awkwardly patting my shoulder.

"Thank you Annie," I offer weakly, my mind and body exhausted but so thankful for her efforts. I don't know how to repay her… Or Abernathy, for that matter.

I stagger towards the exit, determination keeping me upright. I don't look backwards, not for a second, as I set off the automatic door sensor and the glass doors open up into a chaotic mess of bodies and voices. Scanning the swath of people, I try to see Peeta but he's nowhere to be found. For just a second I close my eyes and will him to appear as my thoughts beckon to him. I know he's still here. I know it.

Working my way through the crowd I keep my eyes peeled so that I can scan every face that passes. I take in the sights that he'd described to me not too long ago, the throng of protesters outside exact to a 'T'. I'm mesmerized by the bodies moving together, my own too weak to do anything more than stand still.

I hear it then, a whisper whipping through the masses. I don't even have time to turn before Peeta is wrapping me up in his arms, my breath squeezed from my lungs and into his as his lips crash against mine. Everything around us disappears as we bind ourselves together. The past month apart and everything that has come between us slowly starts to wash away.

* * *

"Sweetheart," Abernathy greets, his hand holding my luggage as he stands in our doorway unexpectedly. I step aside, surprised he's here let alone that he knows where we live.

Stepping into our apartment, he sets my bag down and looks around nervously before letting his gaze come back to land on me.

"I'm glad to see you're home," he offers gruffly.

"Katniss, who is it?" Peeta calls out from the end of the hall. If I know him, he's hiding out in his towel fresh from the shower.

"It's Abernathy," I respond, clearing my throat.

"What?" Peeta responds, his head coming around the corner. When he sees Abernathy in our hallway I half expect him to disappear back down the hall to put some clothes on but he doesn't. Instead he steps forward, half naked, and pulls Abernathy into a bone crushing hug that almost lasts a few seconds too long. "Thank you. Thank you," he mutters as he finally steps back, his hands resting on Abernathy's shoulders.

"It was nothing. Really. I just came over to give you your bag, Finnick picked it up yesterday and I offered to get it over here," Abernathy motions towards my suitcase and the tape that's wrapped around it, clearly having been rifled through while I was trapped at the airport.

"You really helped us out, Haymitch," Peeta notes, his body steady against my back. I reach my hand down to grip his, re-establishing the contact I've craved since being released.

"Don't - "

"It meant the world to me," I blurt, interrupting him before he can deny his role any further. "I'd probably be back in Turkey if it weren't for Finnick and Annie helping me," I say and step forward, hesitant.

"You didn't deserve any of what they did to you," he shrugs, glancing away. I seize the moment and pull him in for a hug, the first close contact we've ever had over the years.

"I don't know how to repay you," I add when I step back into Peeta's arms, letting myself lean against him.

"Keep doing meaningful work. We need minds like yours for this research, no matter where you come from. I've got to head out though, I'll see you next week, right?" He asks rhetorically, departing and letting the door click closed behind him before I have another chance to thank him.

"I'm glad you called him. Did I thank you yet for that?" I question, turning in his arms and resting my chin against his chest. His warm laughter chimes in our entranceway as he turns us until I'm pressed between him and the wall.

"You've thanked me for a lot of things, but I'm not sure if you've thanked me for _that_ specifically yet…" He trails off absently as my hands slide along the edge of the towel.

"Mmm, well perhaps I can change that," I say.

His resounding hiss mixes with a sigh and we wrap ourselves around each other again.

Later, when we're lounging on the couch as our skin cools, I roll until I'm facing him again, our eyes meeting in the evening light.

"You don't have to thank me, Katniss," he says quietly, fingers drifting along my chin. "I'd give everything for you. There was no way I was going to let you go anywhere without me again. I could barely handle it while you were gone - all I could do was watch you hurting and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life."

"I'm sorry I left," I mumble, curling impossibly closer.

"You don't have to apologize. I don't mean it like that. I know you had to go. I just should have gone with you - "

"Peeta, no," I stop him, sitting up and looking at him sharply. "We're okay. We both know you couldn't go, it was hard enough getting an expedited visa for me, let alone both of us. I had to go, I had to know what happened to my sister. It was hard, and it's going to take time, but we can't just stand still. We need to look forward now. We can't let Trump keep getting away with this - "

"There she is," he whispers abruptly, interrupting me as a smile touches his features and makes my edges soften.

"What?" I scoff, shifting slightly under his observant gaze. I can feel the burn of angry excitement and determination in my soul, re-kindling the passion to make the world a better place so that sisters don't die in wars and innocent people aren't judged for where they were born.

"My girl on fire. She's back and ready to fight again."


End file.
